


Pas Une Princesse

by marelicarter (padmefuckingamidala)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Sugar Daddy!Bucky, it's so much smut, protective!Peggy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padmefuckingamidala/pseuds/marelicarter
Summary: You need the money. Despite having past issues with a client, you decide to go back to the only job you were ever really good at. Or, to put it simply, you become a sugar baby for James Barnes.





	1. Chapter 1

You really needed the money, as much as it pained you to do. College was stressful and the fact that no one around would hire college students that couldn’t work summers, you were fucked. That’s how you ended up in Ms. Carter’s office, nervous. Maybe showing up casually wasn’t the best thing you had in mind. Dressed in a pair of leggings, a t-shirt, and whatever color your sneakers were now after two years, you sat in the chair across from her, watching her red nails tap along the top of the desk, pen in hand.

“You’ve done this before,” she commented, looking over your resume. “Why did you leave?”

“Hospitalization.”

“Rumlow?”

You nodded, but you both already knew the answer.

“We don’t associate with him or his people anymore,” said Peggy calmly. She shoved everything away and set down her pen, nails falling still at the sensitive subject. “I can’t do this. You’re too sweet, Y/N, I’m terrified to send you back out into the field.”

“I need the extra money,” you pleaded. “You said you would be professional. Don’t look at me as your friend, look at me as a young lady with a desperation for money.”

Peggy Carter—well, Rogers, it should have been, but their marriage was a secret whether it happened yet or not—was very good at her job. She was sex appeal in two pristine high heels and that was all she needed to be, at least in the eyes of outsiders. She retired from being an agent on the field and took to making money off of lonely men that desperately wanted something to come home to, or even to come on. She had seen the rise and fall of your terror with Rumlow, a man that broke every boundary and left you fleeing the agency. Money was money, though, and all scars aside, you were desperate.

“Steve has a friend,” Peggy said slowly, trying not to clench her jaw at the thought of the past. “His name is James. Overworked, typical, and he’s spending too much time with his head in his job to truly date. I’m sure he’d like to come home to a nice face.”

“What’s on the table?”

“It doesn’t have to be sex.” She said it way too quickly, mostly for her own piece of mind. You knew Peggy worried about you ever since she set you up with Rumlow. But the money was good with him, and you were so desperate you’d probably go back if he was the only option.

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. Will he work with my class schedule? I can’t miss anything or else I won’t graduate.” Oh boy, and working hard to get into grad school was rough. No one would hire you in and you were trapped until you had that master’s degree in your hand.

“James is very thoughtful. He’ll be more than happy to accommodate you.”

And then, you meet him. It was the very next day. He was late; walked straight into the office with bags under his eyes and his tie loosened too much for a professional touch. “I’m sorry,” he groaned and closed the door behind him. “Meeting ran longer than it should have. James Barnes.” His hand shot up for you to shake.

“It’s alright.” You smiled at him and shook his hand. “Y/N. Thank you for having me, I know the initial meetings can be a bit weird.” You didn’t exactly look like much. You tried to look nice; a little touch up to your face, nice jeans, a cute cardigan, you even scraped up some money to by a pair of flats so he didn’t have to see your ugly sneakers.

“I’m worried about making you uncomfortable.” James set down the files and coffee he was holding, filling his already cluttered desk further. He was very handsome, muscular and long hair hanging in his face. His steel blue eyes themselves were intoxicating. A hair tie was worn around his wrist, for his own shaggy hair, which you watched lovingly as he tucked it behind his ears. The suit and tie was to be expected, and he wore a glove on his one hand, but you told yourself not to stare at it, as that would have been rude. “Okay. Weird will go away but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I guess this whole situation is creepy, so…” He sat down behind his desk and took a breath. “What’s allowed and what’s not allowed.”

“It depends.” And really, it did. You looked at him with as much confidence as you could muster and crossed your legs, trying your hardest to be ladylike. “What do you mean? What’s my role? What do you fully intend for me to do?”

James nodded to himself. “Alright. I guess I really just like the idea of you playing the part of a girlfriend. It’s not like I have time to actually find one but… I sound so weird right now, don’t I?”

“No,” you said honestly. “I get it. You’re busy. That’s where I come in.”

“Peggy said you were the best.”

“She’s just sweet.” This was going well, you thought, and that was mostly going off of body language. The man before you was exhausted. The bags under his eyes were more prominent as he leaned forward, almost hunching over his phone to send out a quick email. He tucked his phone away, but you continued to talk. “I like intimate. I like cuddly. I just have class during the say so I wouldn’t really be available until three, and then weekends are free. But what are you looking for? A clingy girlfriend?”

“I actually wouldn’t mind that.” He smiled sleepily. “You’d get paid weekly, direct deposit would be nice but I’m not going to hassle you over that. I don’t care about secrecy, I just never have time to actually go to the bank.”

“I’m fine either way.”

“But gifts are seperate. I know Peggy said to stick to an ‘allowance’ and only that, but I’m a sucker for making people smile, so I’ll probably shower you in things. Is that okay?”

“Are there any catches?” you asked carefully. “The gifts. Are they actual gifts? Or are you looking for, I don’t know, something certain in return? Like I can’t say no if you give me an extra something?”

He blinked, realizing why Peggy was so strict when it came to you. He could see the fear in your eyes and the way you tensed in the shoulders. “No,” he responded. “I told you I wanted a fake relationship, right? I don’t own you. I want to come home, change into sweatpants, and dance around the living room with you, cheesy shit like that. And you have the absolute right to tell me when you’re not comfortable.”

You still weren’t sure.

“Peggy lectured me for an hour about you. I have certain rules I have to follow with you, and I understand. I’m not going to immediately bend you over and fuck you. Like I said, this is more of a relationship. You’re not a slave here at all.”

“Okay.”

James sensed your skepticism and fears, and decided to change the subject. “Two thousand a week, is that fair?”

You nearly gagged. “Oh my God yes. Are you sure?”

“Of course. The allowance, plus gifts. I…” He hesitated. “I just want to be close to someone. I don’t have the time. I’ll take you to dinners and to do little things when I can, but most of the time, I just want to come home to something other than an empty house.” James watched your expression soften. “Do you have any allergies I should be aware of? Any comments? Anything?”

Well, other than you wanting you grab his face and stain your lipstick all over his skin, not really. “No allergies, but I really like making food, so I guess I should be asking you that question.”

Maybe the way to his heart was through the stomach, because he smiled a real smile for the first time in the meeting. It touched his steel blue eyes, caused them to crinkle at the edges, and his tongue poked out from between his teeth, just the slightest bit. “Music to my ears. I don’t really have food allergies but I don’t like pickles. Or mustard. Or red velvet cake, but other than that, you could make anything and I’d eat it.”

“Good to know, I could do meal preps that way you have something to take to work with you.”

“You’re killing me, doll.”

The door swung open to see a secretary, older and rounder, hair tucked neatly on the back of her neck. “Mr. Barnes, your four o’clock is here. And he’s a bit… angry.”

James stood up and nodded to her, pulling his wallet out of his pocket as the door closed. It was very strange how one nod could indicate an action, but you suppose he had them all trained, and they were all very good at their jobs. He handed you a house key and a sleek black credit card before adjusting his tie. “Make the house a home, it’s so damn bland at the moment. Keep it under a thousand if you can, if not, no big deal. Get what you think would look nice.”

Before you could answer, he walked out, coffee forgotten on his desk and you left stunned at the amount of money you potentially held in your hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Driving your shitty beater car to James’ house was probably not the best moment of your life. It was basically a gated community, except the house was along some back roads and along a very beautiful scene. At the end of a driveway there was an automated gate, which you must have been given the clearance for, because as soon as you looked into the camera it opened. Well, what did you honestly expect from a man that was giving you two thousand dollars a week? You drove your beater car from the nineties up the driveway, looping around the one side of the huge, over-the-top house, until finally, you stopped. There were no neighbors around (except for one, but that was kind of far away and it would have taken a ten minute walk; you saw it but it was a tiny dot along the horizon at this point), but in their place, there were trees and pretty shrubs. Obviously James had a gardener. There was so much done, he wouldn’t have been able to do it himself.

You got out of your car and instantly headed towards the door. The place was amazing. It had to be at least three bedrooms, perhaps a spooky sex dungeon that he would tie you up in for hours. The foyer was kind of empty. You kicked off your shoes to investigate but the whole house was as empty as the foyer. It was just cold and bland, obviously nothing was done here. The kitchen was cold and unused, lacking color or even basic decorations. Every room seemed to be so distant from the next. No pictures were along the walls. No throw pillows or blankets adorned the couches. No shelves, no books, no candles or anything. Nothing. Too much nothing.

It nearly broke your heart. It was crazy to live in such an uninviting home. Even the curtains, when there were panels, were dull. The white walls were like prison bars. You had to fix this. You wondered if he’d be mad if you picked a blue theme. Blue and gray were very minimalist colors, modern, which would brighten up the white without making everything seem too forced or dull. Even his couch was white, which was nice, but there was too much going on, and the contrast of the dark hardwood floors could only do so much.

So, you went shopping. You were used to going to places like Walmart, or even Aldi, maybe Target if you had the money. The way he handed you the credit card made you feel insecure about your shopping habits. It was a sleek black card, something that wouldn’t ever be seen next to a coupon a day and its life. Well, you were going to have to make something work, you decided before walking out of the empty house. Once the door was locked behind you, you made your way to prove yourself worthy, and so much was bought. Returning home and bringing everything in was a task in itself, but here you were; ready to make it an actual home.

Upon returning—with house items and a set of clothes for tomorrow just in case—you pulled everything into the house and began to work. Blue and gray pillows adorned the couches. You bought some kitchen decorations, all in the blue color scheme, with lovely gray accents, and it was starting to feel like home. Constructing a bookcase was one of the hardest things you’d done, but as it was erected in the spacious, open living room, you knew it was worth it. You piled all of your books there. Shelves were filled with textbooks on the bottom and all your favorite novels and comics on the top two. You found a cute little throw blanket that matched the color theme, but seemed quite childish, but God, you wanted it so bad. It was seventeen dollars. Blue, gray, white, and it had dogs on it. It was cute and looked very cozy draped over the back of the couch.

You didn’t touch the bedroom, or even bother heading upstairs, but you assumed the bathroom would have been an issue as well, so you had everything in a bag ready to be put out. It just felt very weird to go upstairs when it wasn’t really your house, or when you weren’t invited to go up there just yet. Maybe it was a test. He was waiting for you to break the unspoken trust and to rip up the contract.

But that was fine. In the kitchen, you had hand towels and little knick-knacks here and there. Pot holders to match now hung on the little knobs of the cabinets. The salt and pepper shakers now sat next to a cute little napkin holder, on the kitchen table with small, blue circle placemats. It wasn’t as home-y as you would have liked it, but there would be much more time in the future to add little touches.

“It smells good in here.”

You jerked from your thoughts and turned quickly, your hand touching the hot burner and causing you to pull back and trip away from the stove. James caught you before you fell. “Are you alright?” he asked, grabbing your wrist to inspect your hand. “You should probably ice that.”

Tears stung your eyes, a natural reflex. “Yeah. Damn, that hurts. I hope it at least tastes good when its done.”

“I’m sure it will.” It was a team effort to get you to the chair, where you sat down and waited. He was quick to grab an ice pack. “It looks nice in here, by the way. I like the blues.” Cold. Oh. You smiled at the feeling of ice in your hand and looked up at him, only to have him swipe your tears away. “Please don’t cry,” he murmured, “Peggy will ream my ass if I made you cry the first night.”

“We’ll blame the chicken.”

He chuckled. “That we will. Is it blue upstairs too?”

You shook your head stiffly. He continued to hold your face in his palms, gently of course, and you allowed to do so. You liked how docile he was already. Usually clients in the past took a week to get into a routine but he wasted no time Treating you how he pleased. “I didn’t go upstairs,” you told him, leaning into his touch.

“Didn’t make it there yet?”

“No, I just thought you’d want to be the one to show me. It felt personal. I didn’t want to go up there and, I dunno, break the trust.” When he didn’t answer, you looked at the cool relief in your hand. “I know, it sounds dumb. I just didn’t want to do anything wrong.”

“What, do you think I’m gonna beat ya if you do?”

You flinched at the thought. If he was anything like Rumlow, you sound have been on the floor by now. He would have bruised you so hard the marks would be there for days. Yelling would ever stop. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pulling you away from your fears. “Hey, it was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it. I’d never lay a hand on you. Thank you for setting boundaries though, it means a lot.” He pressed a small kiss to your forehead and pulled back to look at you. “I won’t joke about that stuff anymore. But can I ask you a question? And then we don’t have to talk about it anymore?”

“Okay. But just one.”

“Is this why Peggy lectured me?”

“...yes.”

True to his word, he acted as if it was never said. Nothing related back to it. He pulled away gently and lifted the ice pack on your hand to inspect it. “It doesn’t look serious, but I can always get some Neosporin for you. It might sting a little tomorrow. Probably. I don’t know, I never really cook.”

“Don’t know how?”

“Don’t have time.” James pulled up a seat and sat adjacent to you. “I used to be the best. Not to brag or anything,” he laughed, “but baking was something I used to be really good at. I used to have a kitchen-aid mixer and I would make macaroons once a week.”

“I’ve never had macaroons,” you admitted. “Maybe that’ll be something to do.”

“I haven’t made them in years.” He watched as you stood up with the ice pack and checked the food on the stove. “It should be done. Where do you keep the plates?”

You ate in near silence, which wasn’t as awkward as it should have been. There was so much to say--especially to him. Dinner probably wasn’t the best time for it. Imagine sitting down to a nice bowl of chicken and broccoli alfredo and being asked about expectations. Did he expect you to wear a collar? A butt plug? To be naked around the house at all times, save for maybe a short and very small silk robe? Did he expect you to bend over at is every will? James seemed so nice and all you could worry about were past expectations. 

James cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “This is very good,” he nearly moaned, smiling even though he already had another bite lined up. “Would you be willing to cook a few times a week? I can pay you extra for it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You twirled your fork and shook off any thoughts of Brock left behind. “Cooking is a great destresser for me, I’m sure I’d be cooking regardless. Just stock up on the ingredients, or leave a little extra money out so I can pick them up.”

“And what about meal prep?”

“Same deal,” you told him, “I’ll just be making a bigger dinner, and that’ll be lunch for the next few days.”

“You’re never allowed to leave,” he whined, shoving more in his mouth. “This is too good. I could cry. My compliments to the chef.”

It didn’t take him long to finish. He, with his suit jacket thrown over the chair and his sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbow, put his dish in the sink and leaned against the counter. “Wanna see the upstairs?”

“Is that a hint, James?” you teased. But the fear nipped at your heart and left your lungs feeling heavy. Breathing wasn’t easy, but it may have been the way he was dressed. (And that was deliciously.)

“No. It’s an invite to see the upstairs. I’m sure there will be time for what your dirty mind wants sooner or later.” He grabbed your hand and, perhaps a little too excited, James showed you the upstairs. He showed you the bathroom--which was technically more of a guest bathroom since he had an ensuite-- and then your room. You were kind of….skeptical. You never had your own room before. “You want me to move in with you?” you asked shyly. Usually they expected you to stay but you stayed in their room and whenever you wanted to be alone you went to your own apartment, the little dump it was.

“I don’t expect you to,” he said softly, still holding your hand. “Peggy said your apartment sucked. So if you choose to, this is your room and you can stick around. No roaches, no mold, and the bathroom is up to date, as you saw. Nothing like your apartment.”

“I think Peggy said too much.”

“She was very thorough. Even lectured me for an hour,” he reminded. Your hand was released in favor of raising his own to brush your hair back behind your ear. “It’ll need a bit of decorating. I’m sure we could get you a lovely bedspread for when you get tired of waking up to my ugly mug. You can bring some clothes here--or we can go shopping and get you some clothes to keep here.”

“You’re moving so fast,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

As if he’d touched fire, he instantly jerked his hand back from you, eyes growing wide.

“No!” you shouted, grabbing his hand back. “It’s okay! I just meant you’re so trusting. Usually people want to put me through a trial week and then I’ll be treated nicely. It’s just weird, I’m sorry. I appreciate it, though. How can I prove it to you? Or make it up to you?”

“No. Maybe some more pasta, but other than that, no.” Slowly, he grabbed your hand again and offered a shy smile. “I do trust you. Or, well, I think I’m just really touch starved, in all honesty. If I had the time I would have taken another lunch break and probably have taken you out for coffee. I’m gonna smother you in affection, I hope that’s okay.”

Brock never wanted to love you unless you debated leaving or he wanted sex. The fear settled in your gut and told you to be worried. However, one look into James’ eyes you melted into a puddle of acceptance. The money was amazing. Maybe--and Peggy could never hear you say this--if James decided to beat you within an inch of your life as Brock did, you’d stay for the money, for the soft looks, for the admiration you got when you made pasta. Everything in you pushed you towards him. “You’re sweet,” you murmured. “I’d love the smothering.”

He helped you set up what you bought for the bedrooms. You added throw pillows to the bed and instead of replacing the white duvet with a gray one, you draped a plush throw blanket at the end of the bed, adding layers and comfort to it. 

“It doesn’t feel as lonely now,” he said. “Which side of the bed do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Please pick.”

“Will you be upset if I sleep in your left?”

The question left him stunned. His eyes grew slightly, alarmed, perhaps having had hoped you wouldn’t have caught on to his little charade. The glove stayed, and his sleeve stayed down, something you could tell was alien for him in his own home. You snap your head down to gaze at the bed. “I’ll take the other side,” you said softly.

“It’s a story for another day.”

“And that’s perfectly fine by me.”

With nothing else to do upstairs, you two ended up in the newly decorated living room. He, of course, had work to do. The way he sat on the couch and hunched over, pulling the coffee table closer to him to spread out files before him. You were almost afraid to disturb him. He sat on the right cushion with the entire left side (and center) of the couch open. So you took it as an invitation.

You curled against James with a small smile and stared at your phone as he did his work. Under you, his left arm flinched. He still wore his glove and hid his entire arm from you, even though he wasted no time kissing you and treating you like an actual lover. It was something that kind of worried you since he wanted the aspect of trust. Maybe he had a weird scar on his hand. It’s wasn’t ideal, scars happen all the time. A quarter to ten, you decidedly had enough or lying around, and you locked your phone before setting it down on the table. “You work too much,” you told him. “Take a break.”

“I have to finish this.”

“Or you could cuddle me for five minutes, catch your breath, and try again.” You looked up at him. “You’re exhausted, James.”

“I’m always exhausted.”

“Cuddle me.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” You pulled the file from his hands—which he surprisingly allowed—and set it carefully on the table before pulling his arm across you. “See? Cuddling.”

“I have to get back to work.”

You ignored him and called out to his Google Home. “Hey Google, set a timer for five minutes.”

Google responded with the affirmative, and you counted that as a win, as James did not argue one bit. “See? That’s all. Just a little break.”

He grinned at turned his head to kiss your hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Instead of letting him kiss your hair, you jerked your head up and captured his lips in yours. It must have surprised him--a gasp was pulled from his lips, soon turned to a soft sigh, gathering momentum. He kissed you with such passion you thought you would burst right there, maybe into flames or a million different pieces.

He pushed you back lightly, thinking he got the hint--not exactly the hint you were giving or had even thought of-- to allow you back to hit a pillow as he held himself up with his left arm, hovering over you to kiss you breathless once more. When he pulled away he made work to pull down your leggings and let them drop to the floor, out of sight and out of mind. There was no protesting--one, because the money was good and two, because he kissed you again, giving no room for any words. His right hand came up to your knees, stroking the fingertips along your thigh until he reached your mound. Never in a million years has sex included your personal needs. Men used you to get off and that was it. But now, as James pushed your knee up to your chest and made you hold it in place, you were nearly exposed to him, but he made no effort to free himself for pleasure.

“This is what you wanted, huh?” James murmured, his nose bumping into yours. “You’re already so eager, or do you think you could tire me out?”

“If I’m gonna tire you out, you better hurry up. I have a feeling you’ll stop once the five minutes is over.” You pulled your panties to the side and looked up at him. “Four minutes and counting.”

His face pressed against the side of yours, lips brushing against your neck, and he surprised you by teasing your entrance with his fingers. Oh, it was beautiful. For once you were turned on, as excited for sex as you could ever be—you were going to get off. Were you? James sucked against your jaw and finally, once he decided you were wet enough not to hurt, he slid one finger inside you, twisting and exploring. You gasped and tried to remain still.

“I know, I know,” James murmured, his hot breath tickling your skin. “You want more, don’t ya, doll? You want me to forget about my paperwork and make you come.”

“Please,” you whispered before you can stop yourself.

Instead of yelling, he smiled against your neck and gave a chuckle. “So polite. So sweet, babydoll, how could I say no to that?” A second finger joined the first, and fuck, you were wet. Has a man ever made you feel like this? Aroused? Excited? One hand flew to his shoulder, sliding up his skin to reach his neck and hold the back of it, fingers toying with the little hairs he had under the bun. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

You moaned as he set a steady pace. His fingers repeated their motions and drove you insane; lying back on an expensive couch as a man fingered you was not how you thought you’d spend your Tuesday night. You thought you’d have to fake it. The way he pushed his fingers into you made you moan again and hold him close.

He turned his head slightly. “I can only imagine how good you taste. If I had more time I’d kneel on the floor and show you just how good I can be for you. You’d like that, huh? Think I could make you come twice with my mouth?”

Breathing was not easy. It was hard and labored, rightfully so with such a sinful act being committed. “Maybe three times,” you said breathlessly, swiveling your hips for some sort of friction.

“Three. I’ll remember that.” He focused on his hands. “What a good girl. You’re doing so good for me. I bet I know how to make you an even better girl.” Without further warning he curled his fingers and you cried out in surprise; he hit your sweet spot effortlessly, and when combined with the hot breath in your neck, you were shaking with lust and anticipation.

“Beautiful,” he murmured into your skin. “You’re doing perfect, my sweet girl. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you whined, hips trembling. “James, I’m so close. Please.”

“Are you going to listen and be good for me?” he asked you.

“Yes,” you gasped, “please! James, I… J-James…”

“Then do as I say.”

“I will! Please.”

“Come,” he ordered, thumb circling your clit. “Come for me, doll.”

You broke. Your knees clenched together as you came, your back arched off the couch, and your entire body shook with pleasure. Never before had another man made you come. He peppered kisses along your jaw and throat as he rode out your intense orgasm, wrist moving as much as possible to keep it going. 

“I’ve never seen anything so stunning in my life,” he sighed happily. “You did so good for me. How are you feeling, babydoll?”

You were fucking delighted that you were being praised for nothing but literally coming. “Amazing,” you murmured shyly. Maybe you were feeling selfish and you wanted more—whatever it was, you weren’t complaining when he began to unbuckle his pants.

“Five minutes is up,” Google announced.

James stopped. “And I think that’s my queue to get back to work.”

“But you didn’t… you didn’t get off yet.”

“You did,” he said, “and that’s more than enough for me.” He sucked his fingers clean, smirked at you, and picked up a file. 

You never felt so damn good in your life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the feedback! You guys are amazing. There's really no update schedule, but I have the first nine chapters already written, this was originally posted on my tumblr but I deleted that because, well, we all know why. I just haven't been the best at throwing it all up here. So as a holiday gift, I should hopefully be posting the rest of the completed chapters, plus a few more works, before Christmas day.
> 
> Also, I take requests if anyone would like to ask! I'm in a few more fandoms so feel free to ask about other pairings and ideas, too!
> 
> Thank you for the feedback, once again. Y'all keep me motivated :)

You woke up alone after a dreamless sleep in an unfamiliar bed. It instantly caused a panic. The dull white walls just screamed hospital, and you swore you were past Brock’s hold. Why would you be in a hospital? It was all too much, like your brain was playing a cruel trick on you. But the bed was too comfortable to belong to a hospital. You scrambled to sit up before a knock at the door grounded you for a moment. 

“Are you awake?” James’ voice was slightly raspy, breaking you from your panicked thoughts. “It’s seven, and if you expect a breakfast sandwich before we part ways you better get up now.” When you didn’t answer, the door opened ever so slightly. “Y/N? Doll?”

James! His voice was soothing to hear. “I’m up,” you answered, relieved. Forgetting where you were was scary, but as soon as you uncovered yourself, you knew exactly what happened. After last night, you fell asleep in the couch, hence the lack of pants. Your underwear were still a bit twisted and your face wasn’t as dirty was you expected it to be, meaning you most likely had some help.

“I carried you up last night,” he explained. His body was now in plain view, having opened the door further. Damp hair clung to his ears, but it wasn’t enough drip on his clothes. Already clad in his trousers, a white button up, and socks, he stood with a gray tie in his hand, while the left arm remained hidden behind the door. “And I didn’t want your face to break out so I wiped off your makeup. I hope it’s okay.”

“Perfectly okay.”

You learned many things about James that day. He loved getting Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in the morning along with a breakfast sandwich, so that part wasn’t a lie. He was ashamed of his left arm and didn’t like to have it near you; you sat to his left and he made an excuse to get the orange juice, then sat himself to your left instead. The morning continued smoothly, with your cup of orange juice that you didn’t ask for in your hand, and James brushing your hair to then put it up in a bun.

“I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?” he asked. “It’s your first real day. I don’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“It’s nice,” you admitted. “I like people messing with my hair. And I trust you. Aren’t we technically dating?”

He hesitated. “Is that okay?”

“You’re literally paying for my time,” you said, looking at him through the mirror. “This is about what you want. You said you wanted a girlfriend, so that’s what I am. And right now you’re acting like a really good boyfriend so you’re not making this hard.”

“I know,” he said quickly, “but I… can I call you that? Like in public? Can people know—or well, think, I guess—that we’re dating, so to speak?”

“Why not?”

He tied your hair off in a bun and admired his handy work. The way he looked at you caused your cheeks to heat up; he was just so sweet towards you, it almost made you sad you weren’t his actual girlfriend. “Well…” He straightened up and began to change the subject. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll be downstairs, and we can head to Dunkin’.”

Shorts—which complimented your body so fucking well—was a good outfit choice for the day. It was supposed to be super warm, anyways. You stepped into them and admired yourself in the mirror as you buttoned them. You didn’t have anyone to really impress, so you put on a bralette and just a plain white t-shirt. Damn, you looked good. Maybe next to James you wouldn’t look as great, since you were wearing jean shorts and a boring shirt…

No. You weren’t going to compare yourself to anyone else, and you weren’t going to let anyone tear you down. Especially not when you had someone downstairs that wanted to kiss you and give you money. Boy, you really liked the idea of a sugar daddy. Brock really wasn’t much of one. For someone that always wanted sex he wasn’t the best at giving orgasms. James, however, was suddenly another story.

After sharing a fast breakfast at Dunkin’ Donuts, the two of you parted ways. (You especially liked how James watched you go, his eyes hypnotized by your legs and how they moved in those shorts.) School was nothing special. You did your work, attended your lectures, and pretended your life was the same as it always was. But it wasn’t. Waiting for you was someone that actually was excited to see you. You were able to cook for someone and pretend to mean something to them. And you were finally floating in financial stability. It was as perfect as your life could get.

A routine was set up ever since then. You would wake up (in your own bed, which was okay) and get ready for the day. Usually you saved your hair for James, who had a blast tying it up and braiding it. He said it reminded him of his little sister Rebecca, who wasn’t so little anymore, but she moved away and he didn’t see her for a while. He missed her. But your hair was just as nice and as he finished your hairstyle for the day, he was confident enough to lean down and kiss the top of your head. “All done,” he would announce.

You would make your way downstairs and eat a breakfast—or go to Dunkin’ Donuts—before having to depart. A small kiss was shared and you two parted ways until you were both finished for the day, and back to the house you went. One day, that changed. You pulled into his driveway and as soon as you climbed out of your beater car you saw him standing beside his SUV. “Get in,” he called out, “we’re going shopping.”

“We just bought groceries,” you said, confused. Nonetheless you walked towards his sleek vehicle and opened the passenger door.

Both in the SUV, he turned to look at you. His eyes were red, which they weren’t that morning, so you assumed he was frustrated with work. It was a bit early for him to be home, anyways. He reached out with his left hand hesitantly only to let it fall in his lap and instead brush your hair behind your ear with his right hand. “We’re going on a date night,” he stated. The words weren’t as confident as he would have liked, but you weren’t arguing. “And I’ve invited Peggy and Steve so our first time isn’t weird. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to do things in public just to please me.”

“Is… is that a euphemism?”

“What? No. If I make you uncomfortable you’re allowed to speak up without feeling like you’re embarrassing me in public, is what I mean. I’m not going to diddle you in any public place.” Pulling out onto the road, he visibly relaxed. He was almost a different person. He was still dressed from work; he ditched the tie after his shift but you still felt as if he looked ten times better than you. Your black high-waisted linen shorts with a tucked-in white tank top was cute. Next to him? You felt sloppy. You wished you could have changed into something different before heading out. Shopping would have been nice, though, and you were ready to deal with it.

Upon arriving, you felt under dressed. Everyone in the mall was beautiful and left you looking around nervously. You were able to relax when James draped a jean jacket in your size over your shoulders and ripped off the price tag, leading you over to the counter. “Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re so tense I can feel you radiating anxiety;” he explained. “She’s gonna wear it around, sorry. I’d like to buy it now.”

“I don’t see how this would help my outfit woes.”

“First of all it’s not an outfit woe.” He pulled out his wallet and then revealed his sleek, black credit card. The way he held it between his two fingers as he leaned on the side of the counter was suck a power move, it in itself made you lose the argument. “Second of all, Rebecca does fashion. I read her magazine and it said layers. This is a layer, and with the way your hair is pulled up, you look great. The colors work well, too. If anything Rebecca told me is true, it’s the fashion.”

Shopping was fun, to say the least. You held up cute things and James tried to snag them away, ready to automatically say yes to them without even seeing how you looked in them. He grabbed things himself, too. “What kind of date night are we gonna have?” you asked him, looking at jeans and shirts. “Is it casual?”

“If I say yes will you get the black jeans?”

You rolled your eyes but still continued to flip through for your size. “They’re nice, I can wear them with the jean jacket. But I don’t know what clothes I should be getting. Should I buy a dress? Should I buy a swimsuit? You’re just plucking things off the racks at random.”

“I told you, the gifts were a real thing.” He took the jeans from you and slung them over his arm, looking quite funny and like a sales rack himself. “Plus, you should be prepared for all dates. I’ll tell ya when to stop.”

“I know that will be a while.”

“I have four credit cards, I’m sure we could spend a day or two here.” The smile he gave you was borderline blinding. He was nothing like Brock and that made your heart soar.

In the fitting room, you tried on multiple outfits and stared at yourself happily in the mirror. You looked cute enough to hold his hand in public now.

“C’mon,” he whined, “let me see.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped out into the hall and gave a little spin. “What do you think?” you asked. “Think we’d look like a real power couple now?”

“Is that what you’re aiming for?” he teased.

“Maybe. Or maybe I want to look so good you stumble over your words.”

Something in his face twitched with wonder. “I’m not easily choked up,” he said. “I’ll let you know if you get there.”

Oh. Really? You turned and went back into the fitting room to fling off all your clothes. You pulled on a pair of the black jeans and a black bralette you thought would be great for lazy days. It was very lacy, however, and choking up James would have been ideal in this. Also, it gave your emergency lipstick in your purse a sense of purpose. You swiped it on your lips quickly and pushed all the clothes into a pile in the corner. “James?” you called out. “Could you help me zip this up?”

“Of course.” The door opened and instead, you grabbed him by the pant loops and pushed him against the wall. “You little sneak,” he muttered.

“What about this?” you asked, suddenly so confident you felt as if you towered over him. “Is this up the alley of choking you up?”

“Close,” he chuckled. “Are you really that determined, doll?”

Maybe you were, and that was why you fell to your knees and looked up at him expectantly. “What about this lipstick?” you asked softly. “Think the color would look nice on your skin?”

He swallowed, silent, and he was getting a little hard in his pants. You traced the outline of his cock through his slacks with the lip of your nose, feeling him come alive under you. “Oh,” you sighed quietly, happily. “Look at you. All choked up, just for me. I wonder if I can choke you up more.”

“Don’t tease,” he pleaded. “And don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I’m very comfortable.” Quickly, your fingers worked on his belt loops to loosen his pants. It took a second or two longer than you had hoped but eventually, they pooled around his ankles and his boxers came after. You licked the underside of his cock from base to tip, and he gasped at the sudden heat.

“Y/N,” he rasped, hands struggling not to mess up your hair. “Fuck. You’re teasing.”

“Am I, though?” In one swift movement you took him in your mouth the whole way down to the base. He groaned so loud you thought someone would surely be around to kick you two out. It was almost hot to think of. You pulled off slowly and wrapped your hand around the base, looking up at him. It was one of your favorite things to do. You thought about getting your partner off a lot, and it was so satisfying; it used to be glorious with Brock but it quickly turned into something too submissive to enjoy. Kissing up James’ thigh proved to be just as satisfying as it once was, and taking him back into your mouth was rewarded with a low whine.

“Doll, fuck,” he breathed, “I’m not going to last long if you keep it up.”

You sucked his dick as if your life depended on it. He finished in your mouth, you swallowed, and he pulled you up to kiss him. Brock didn’t like the taste of himself and would hit you for trying. James initiated it, leaving you feeling proud.

“You’ll get yours in the car, babydoll,” he murmured. Oh, you were sure. You watched as he pulled up his pants, readjusted himself, and left the fitting room. “Next outfit, darling?”

You smiled and quickly dressed in the next outfit.

Spending eight hundred dollars in clothes wasn’t exactly on your to-do list but here you were. As the cashier gave the total you tried not to be surprised. You’d gotten so many jeans, t-shirts, cute blouses, three blazers, four pairs of shoes, two dresses, and six scarves. There was probably more in there as well, since James liked to pluck things up without telling you.

“I told you it was a gift,” he murmured in your ear. “This isn’t the end of the world, here.”

“It’s a lot.”

“Not to me.” He kissed the side of your head and handed over his card. 

And the shopping didn’t end there. He pulled you into Home Goods to have you pick up more for the home. You especially needed hangers for all the clothes he just bought you.

More home decorations were bought. He picked out things in the color scheme happily, showing you each item and asking about them. You had to deny his pillow requests a few times since he picked the ugliest ones that clashed with the colors. But other than that, he was excited to make his house a home.

“You’re racking up quite a bit of money here,” you said, pushing the cart down another aisle. “You sure you wanna keep throwing pillows in here?”

“Absolutely.” With a smile, James turned to look at you. “Now, I think we should focus on the bedroom and en suite. Are we still going with blues?” The way he looked at you, quizzing you, and trying to remember all the answers left you smiling back at him. Fingers ran along every pillow until they found one satisfying enough.

“Yes,” you said finally. “Blues.”

And boy, did he pick out the best blues.

Leaving, finally, meant taking all the bags to the car and trying to stuff them in. Between all the clothes, hangers, pillows, and various home decor, the only space left in the decently spacious SUV was up front where the two of you were supposed to sit. “Good thing we stopped when we did,” James laughed, closing the back before anything could fall out. “If you woulda let me get one more pillow we would have been cramped.”

You both got in, buckled, and started pulling out of the driveway. Usually after a day of classes you weren’t excited to spend your days doing much else. The weekend was used for being a human, not the nights during the week. But getting out and doing domestic things with James was actually worth it. You told him as much. And he told you how much he appreciated you, and oh boy! Everyone was just happy! Well, you were about to be real happy too.

“I still think we shoulda hit the Ulta up there,” he said, resting his hand on your knee. “All the lipsticks we could have picked out… you’d run the world.”

“Why can’t I run it now?” you asked lowly. “Is the memory not enough to go on?”

James’ hand trailed along your thigh before dipping down in between them and running up to your clothed cunt. His left hand remained on the steering wheel, eyes remained focused, but his right hand was moving with a mind of its own, desperate to repay you for the fitting room blowjob. You looked over at him. “Are you in a hurry to make me come so you can taste me again?”

“Such a mouth,” he muttered. “It’ll be the death of me.”

“In more ways than one, I hope.” You gasped as he pulled your shorts to the side and teased you, moving incredibly slow. “I hate that your fingers are my favorite,” you found yourself choking out.

“I hate that you’re like velvet around my fucking fingers.” His tone indicated he really didn’t hate it. The way he clenched his jaw only proved it further and somehow helped you to pool in your panties. It was almost alien to be aroused by someone else. Weird, right? But when you looked over at him and saw he way his cheeks reddened because of you, because of your body, you allowed yourself to indulge in this moment.

Without any real thought, you reached over to palm him through his jeans. You knew from the past week and especially today’s escapade in the fitting rooms that he tucked himself to the right, which was currently working in your favor. “I bet you’d like it even more if it was your dick inside. I promise it’ll feel just as good.”

“You’re really trying to milk me today, aren’t you?” There was no denying he was growing hard again. His slacks began to tighten slightly with every soft passing of your hand. “Y/N…” It came out as almost a warning, a plea—he gathered your arousal to slick you up, your entire slit wet and ready to be played with. You grabbed his wrist reflexively and gasped at the beautiful sensation.

“Don’t you want me?” you asked with a soft moan. “I’ll be so good for you. I’m a good girl, James, I promise.”

James took a detour, fingering you excruciatingly slow as he took the back roads. The sun had just started to set and left the horizon a beautiful blend of colors. If you could feel anything, you’d equate it to a sunset right then. The way he teased you, keeping you turned on and present, was glorious. But it came to a stop. He threw the car in park once he was satisfied, turned it off, and exited with a slam of the door. Abruptly, and with a rather impressive tent in his pants, he opened your door and ripped off your seat belt.

“Please,” you whined, only to be cut off with a deep kiss. James pulled your jean jacket from your shoulders but no other clothing was taken off. He balled the jacket up and pulled you forward to place it between you and the console. “James—“ you began.

He shoved you back and grabbed you gently by the chin. “If you don’t want this, tell me right now. I’ll get back in the car and we’ll drive home like nothing ever happened.”

Your answer came in the form of actions. Rather than letting him pull back, you allowed your legs to shamelessly fall open. He waited. Words were needed. “I want you,” you told him. “I just don’t want to be hit. Is… is that okay?”

“I don’t think I could ever hit an angel such as yourself,” he whispered. Seeing him suddenly so soft was beautiful. He bumped his nose against yours and closed his eyes. Hearing him breathe soothed your soul, leaving you at peace and ready for him. “If you want to stop at any time, you say it, okay? And I’ll stop. We’ll stop and go home.”

“I trust you, James.”

He pulled a condom from his wallet—the classiest thing ever, you decided—and he tore it open with his teeth before unwrapping it and sliding it on. You wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him in.

But you were so fucking nervous. Would it hurt? Would you cry? Would he get off on your pain? James wasn’t like that but you couldn’t help but to wonder. You were so wet, so damn ready, and as soon as his tip nudged against your entrance, your mouth fell open with a silent moan.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, inching in slowly. “I wish I could keep this moment forever. Look at you, all spread out for me. I’m gonna make you come so hard, doll, you deserve everything.”

Before you could reply, he bottomed out out, and you whined at the sudden feeling. He was the biggest you’d ever had inside of you, and fuck, he sure did know how to use it. “James!” you cried out, hand coming up to the back of his neck. “Please, oh, fuck!”

“Velvet,” he cooed. “You’re perfect around my cock. Oh, Christ, babydoll, you’re too damn good. I’m never going to get enough of you. You’re making me lose my mind.”

He slammed into you repeatedly, his cock hitting your sweet spot each time. Fuck. He was amazing. You never doubted him, honestly, but your past track record was trash and he was the first guy to actually give a shit about you. He sucked at your jaw and all nerves are being overstimulated. “Please,” was all you could say. It came out softly, as a whispered beg. You needed to get off. You needed him to break you.

He held himself up with his left arm, positioned right beside your arm on the console, and with his right hand, he reached down to rub your clit. The dirty words didn’t stop. Tears were almost stinging your eyes with want and pleasure, but you squeezed your eyes closed in favor of moaning and relying solely on audible encouragement. It wasn’t like he could see your face anyways with his lips trailing along your skin.

Cutting the air like a blade, his gruff voice rang out suddenly, low and gravely. “I’m close,” he panted. “You gonna come for me? Be a good girl?”

“Almost,” you said helplessly. “I think I’m getting there. Please don’t stop.”

He came before you with a groan and a growl. Thrusting slowed, making you nervous that you wouldn’t finish, but once he rode it out he steadied back out, adding more pressure to your clit.

“Come for me,” he murmured in your ear. “You’ve been so good, let me make you come. You deserve it.”

You mewled at the friction and his words. “So close… James….”

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “So good, babydoll. Come for me. Soak my cock, pretty girl. Give me something to lap up.”

You were so fucking close it hurt. He continued to fuck you throughout your desperation until finally, he pinched your clit, and you came with an ear-splitting scream. All of your anxieties and insecurities melted away to nothing. As your back arched, mouth falling open, James took it upon himself to suck a hickey into the side of your neck and thrust harder and harder to help you ride it your orgasm. You clung to him desperately until you fell limp against the car seat, breathing heavy under James, who pressed small kisses against your skin.

“That was amazing,” he sighed. “Please tell me you didn't fake that.”

“Not at all,” you giggled breathlessly. “That was the best orgasm I’ve had in my life. I hope there’s no houses around here, that scream would raise a few eyebrows.”

“Worth it.”

“I feel sticky.”

“Also worth it.” He pulled away to look down at you. “I can’t wait to snuggle the hell out of you later. Sleep in my bed tonight?”

“I don’t think I can handle a round two. My heart still hasn’t slowed down.”

“No round two,” he agreed. “Just snuggles.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: talk of past abuse, past rape (mentioned, the term "rape" was not explicitly used in this chapter, please be safe), and drunken confessions

James asleep was one of the prettiest things you’d ever seen. He slept on his stomach, left arm in between you, and all of his walls were dropped as he dreamed. Dark hair showered in every direction to frame his beautifully peaceful face. Stubble adorned his chin from what you could see. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect, and it made you wish you weren’t just some paid fake girlfriend, but rather a real one—someone that got the glory of seeing this forever. But for now, you were the only one around to see him so still and peaceful. You were also the only one to notice his sleeve was riding up on his left arm.

Upon preparing for bed, James had put on a sweatshirt and a glove. There was still a side of him he desperately did not want you to see. Asleep, however, he couldn’t stop you from peeking at the silver underneath the fabric, nor could he stop you from investigating. James’ arm was metal. You weren’t sure how much of it was metal or why, but it was; not that it mattered to you. You were sure there was trauma involved if he tried to hide it but it wasn’t going to stop you from being near him or thinking so highly of him.

But it wasn’t easy to bring up. What would you say? James was so ashamed of that part of him, if you told him you saw it, he would be on edge. Days would be spent in concern and worry, wondering when James would ever speak to you like a normal human being again. He wouldn’t hurt you, but the fear would linger and the admiration would just be empty and forced. Then, you’d probably be out of a job. No more soft kisses or blissful orgasms--or money. Fuck.

“Go back to bed,” he mumbled, breaking you from your thoughts. “It’s Saturday. We get to sleep more.”

You did as you were told, falling back asleep, and decided not to bring up his arm at all.

The entire day was rather boring, not that you minded. There were no clothes to change into (until later) and you spent your time on the couch with James, lying on his chest and watching Netflix on TV until having to get up for lunch or, eventually, to get ready for date night. Date night was fun, or at least, as fun as it could have been when you were lost in thought as to why James hated you knowing about his metal arm. It ate at your stomach as you dressed and readied yourself for a double date and as many drinks as you could handle.

You wore the black jeans he practically begged you to buy--which served you well because your ass looked fucking amazing in them--a plain white tee, and the jean jacket he decided on for you. It was nice, but you weren’t sure just how nice you needed to dress. As you walked into his room for his opinion, you saw probably the most anticipated view of your life: James wearing dark jeans, a black button-up shirt with daisies on it, and a leather jacket, his hair hanging casually in slight waves, the slight stubble along his chin and jaw making him all the more enticing.

“Fuck,” you muttered, not sure what to do with your hands, suddenly very needy and grabby. “I…”

A light pink tinted his cheeks as he looked down at himself, a self-conscious smile playing at his lips. “The shirt’s stupid, huh?”

“No!” You blurted out, gravitating towards him. “I…” Your mouth was dry. Fuck, he looked so good if sent a shiver down your spine just to watch him stuff his hands in his pockets. “You’re too beautiful,” you murmured. “I… if I don’t get to suck your dick sometime tonight I’m gonna be pissed.”

James laughed. “Thirsty girl. We’ll have time for that later.”

“I don’t think I could survive all night,” you whined. “James. You look like a whole snack and you won’t even let me take a bite?” He didn’t have an opportunity to answer; you took it upon yourself to grab him by the belt loops--one of your favorite things to do, you’d decided--and pull him in until your lips were so close to his skin. “I’ll be quick. I’ll make you so proud.”

“After we get home,” he breathed, but he wasn’t so sure about that. But you weren’t going to push him into it. It wasn’t a real relationship anyways, so there was no need for you to blow him unless he initiated it. Instead of arguing, you pressed a small kiss against his chin and pulled back. Your hand found his easily.

“I really like that shirt on you,” you told him while leading him out of his room. “I hope Peggy kept it casual, too. She’s always showing up ready for a runway.”

He seemed confused. “I… wait. Didn’t you just want to suck me off a second ago? How are you so casual?”

“You weren’t sure.”

“I… well, yeah.”

The both of you grabbed your shoes and slipped them on. “James, you’re in charge here. And even if you weren’t, I don’t think it would be right to talk you into sexual acts. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“You were excited. You really wanted to. And now all of a sudden, you’re all cutesy and ready to go,” he explained. With a soft sigh he ran his hands through his hair. “Did you actually want to or are you trying to prove yourself?”

“I’m going to be honest,” you said, straightening out once your flats were on. “Most of the things I do are done to prove myself or please you. That’s what I’m here for, and you know that. You said you wanted a girlfriend figure, and I’m taking that role. I think a girlfriend would blow you just because. But,” you continued, “when I looked at you dressed like that, relaxed and so fucking hot, I think I could have creamed myself right then and there. I’m sorry, I really am, and I don’t know what came over me. I don’t think I have ever wanted a cock inside of me so bad in my life.”

At this point, he was hard in his pants, trying to hide it as he laced up his oxfords. You continued, leaning against the wall and watching him with hungry eyes. “If I had it my way, I’d have you rip these jeans off of me. I’d let you bend me over any surface you’d please as you teased me with the tip. Once I was aroused enough I’d beg you to fuck me within an inch of my life. Oh, James, I would beg for you to mark me up. I’d want you to rip my clothes off of me and cum all over me. I’d look at you, still dressed to perfection, as you flipped me over and fucked me until you came all over any inch of skin you could. And I’d make you lick it all up yourself then kiss it all off your tongue.”

“Y/N,” he mumbled, cock twitching within his pants.

You watched him try not to touch himself. “But we’re crunched on time. We have to meet Peggy and Steve soon, and we’re all nice and clean and ready to go, so getting all dirty wouldn’t be an option. The next best option would be to suck your dick and swallow every last bit of cum you give. For the time being, I’d just have to imagine how fucking good you’d look after you cum on my stomach, how you’d hesitate on aiming at my pretty pink pussy. I know you’d love to empty yourself in there but you’re too good, too polite. So you’d leave me empty but mark me really nice on the outside.”

“You’re such a tease,” he croaked, trying not to give in to his own erection. Suddenly standing he made his way towards you. His mind was so preoccupied he nearly reached for you with his left hand, but caught himself just in time; his right hand flew out to grab you by the ass and yank you closer to him. You fell against his chest and stared up at him.

“Are you gonna mark me up?” you asked in a small voice, lips barely brushing against his chin. “Or are you going to give me a time stamp?”

It looked like he was considering the latter, but he finally glanced at his watch an sighed.“Blow me and when we get home, I’m ripping off every fucking piece of fabric still on your body and I’m going to eat you out until you’re begging me to stop.”

Oh, but you weren’t done. When you had someone so beautiful in front of you, there was no backing away. “So it’s the time stamp,” you murmured. “Well, you’ll get yours in the car. After all, you made me wait the other day.”

“If my memory’s correct,” he began with a smirk, “we both got what we wanted the day and you were the one screaming. I couldn’t have had that happen in the fitting room, could I?”

He had you there. You grabbed the keys from the hook by the door and turned on your heel. “I’ll see you out there.”

James had other plans for you. You made your way out to his SUV, but as soon as your hand touched the door he pushed you against the car made sure to brush his erection against your ass. “You’re teasing,” he growled in your ear.

Check mate. “Maybe you should take the keys and start the car.”

“And what are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He pressed his clothed cock against your ass harder, and you had to stifle a moan. “Don’t test me, doll,” he breathed in your ear. “We had a little deal. I think if you’d like to see your end later you might wanna do something here.”

You tried your best to rock back against him, to create any sort of friction. “Like I said, you might wanna get in the car, James.”

Never had he grabbed his keys so fucking fast in his life. As soon as you both were buckled and he pulled the car out of the driveway, you adjusted yourself in the seat to bend over and kiss all around the strained outline of his dick. In a perfect world, that would have been going inside of you, and you would’ve had a great time fucking yourself on him, but patience was a virtue here. He was breathing hard already, hands turning white around the steering wheel. “Why must you tease me?” he groaned.

You unzipped his pants and watched him spring free. “Because it’s fun.” And it was. You never knew sex could be so fun and liberating. This man aroused you and made you want to please him. Your lips parted to take in just the tip, the sensitive skin hitting the front of your teeth before your jaw dropped to allow it to hit the side of your cheek.

“Oh, fuck,” James breathed. “Doll, you’re driving me insane.”

Words weren’t an option right now, at least from you. Instead, you bobbed your head suddenly and took his full length in one swift motion, nose nuzzling against his jeans. You could tell he was holding back just the way he was tensed up; you were thankful he wouldn’t fuck your mouth or grab the back of your head. Sure, this was so much different than Brock, but you were still a bit tender in terms of roughness. Maybe in a month or so you’d let him hold you by the hair and fuck your face until your jaw hurt, but right now, you needed to be in charge. You needed to prove yourself without the threat of a panic attack.

James groaned and you pulled back to breathe. He was so big you’d probably have to break your jaw to keep him in there forever. “So good, babydoll,” he moaned lowly. “So good to me.”

But the validation was so sweet. You deepthroated him as much as you could, taking him in and holding back any whines just to please him. It was so intoxicating that he eventually had to pull over; his body trembled with the anticipation and pleasure you were treating him to. You pulled off with a kitten lick to his balls, and then looked up at him in admiration.

“I’m not going to last last much longer,” he panted.

Well, you had been at it for a while. He was breathing heavily as you went back down and bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks until you could feel his dick pulsing inside of your mouth. He groaned as he came, hands still tight on the steering wheel. How satisfying. You eagerly swallowed it all and licked his dick clean before pulling back and smiling at him. “Did I do well?”

“Better than you could imagine,” he breathed. “Fuck. I can’t wait to get home and eat you out for hours.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

You both cleaned up and straightened yourselves to make sure no traces of your road head escapades were visible. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant or anything, but it was still nice. Something casual as to not overwhelm you. Steve and Peggy had already found a table. The inside decor was something simple yet modern, not too bright but enough to be inviting. It was easy to slip your hand into James’ and let him lead you into the dining area to meet the others.

“I can see someone broke the no gifts rule rather quickly,” Peggy said as she made her way to hug you. She held your shoulders as she looked you up and down. Of course there was a method to her madness. Eyes scanned frantically for bruises or any other marks. Unable to help herself she grabbed your wrist gently and inspected. When it came up clean, she smiled back up at you and pulled you in again, happy with the results.

“Oh, Peg, if only you knew how drastically he broke that rule…” You shook your head but matched her grin. “I can’t jokingly wish for something or else he’d buy it for me. I had to delete my amazon wishlist out of fear.”

“I’ll kick his ass later,” she laughed. “You look great. How are you?”

“Never been better,” you told her. And for once it wasn’t a lie. You were in a good agreement with a man that wasn’t power hungry by any means. “It’s nice to see you out of your heels for once.” She looked more relaxed, with her hair pulled into a ponytail and her clothes no longer super professional. She exchanged the dresses in for leggings and keds, which suited her body very well. You’d kill to look like her.

“I couldn’t eat a blooming onion on stilettos, could I?”

Steve gave James a rather masculine hug and clamped him on the shoulder. Typical dude stuff. “Almost didn’t recognize ya without the monkey suit. How’s it feel, Bucky?”

“What’s a Bucky?” you asked.

James rolled his eyes and punched Steve playfully on the shoulder. “It’s a childhood nickname that just won’t seem to die. Not very professional, either.”

Steve shrugged. “You’ve been Bucky since Rebecca was in diapers. It’s staying until one of ya die.”

 

You all sat down, sliding into a cozy little booth. Something was probably awkward. The atmosphere was thick and loaded with questions, and James--who was now Bucky, decidedly--was almost tense as you sat to his left. Stories were told, drinks were ordered--wine for you and Peggy since you weren’t driving, and just a small sample size for the two men--and food was pondered upon.

You leaned against James and whispered in his ear, “Am I allowed to call you Bucky?”

James’ cheeks turned pink. “If you would like,” he whispered back.

“I would.”

“If I don’t get a blooming onion I’m never coming back,” Peggy told everyone. “First thing’s first: blooming onion. I think I want finger foods. Maybe spinach artichoke dip.”

You took a bigger sip of your wine than you expected. It was a rose wine, sweet and not too dry, and it went down easily. Drinking hadn’t always been a good thing, but Bucky’s cheeks were still the same color as the wine and it made you happy. It bubbled up and out of you and suddenly, you didn’t know what to do with all this happiness. So you drank. “I don’t know,” you mused as you swirled your glass gently. “Maybe just fries for me. This wine is really good.”

“You have to eat more if you plan on drinking,” Peggy said just as Bucky began to.

“Fries and a salad? I’m not too hungry.”

But boy, were you thirsty. The date flew by quickly, glass after glass of wine consumed, adding to the quickly spinning room, and not much was remembered other than spots in your vision. You remembered feeling bubbly and leaning into Bucky no matter how hard he flinched as you touched his left arm. Liquid confidence was chased with fries and yet more and more nectar. You were floating on a cloud even as you were pulled out of the booth and removed from the table.

“I like this side of her,” Peggy said, a wicked red smile stuck in your memory. “We should do this more often.”

Steve laughed and hooked his arm with hers. “How about next time we hit up the winery? They were amazing, it would be perfect for an afternoon date.”

Leaning against Bucky rather heavily, you giggled and pressed your face into his side. “Will there be the little baby cheeses? That would be so damn good right now. Bucky, can we get some cheese?”

Bucky hoisted you up over his shoulder and the next thing you knew, you were being set on your feet as he unlocked the front door to his home. “You’re so beautiful,” you purred, leaning against him heavily and giggling as he blushed. “Bucky! I’m happy I have a nickname for you! Bucky, Bucky, Bucky! It’s cute. Not stone cold like that punk ass bitch Brock.”

“You keep saying that,” Bucky mused as he pushed the door open and picked you back up. Were you saying a lot? You didn’t remember anything from the car ride. He had you on his hip, like a baby, and you wrapped your legs around his waist happily.

You were a fit of giggles the whole way to the bedroom. “Oooh! Look how strong you are. Damn. What a man.”

He set you on the bed and began to work on your shoes.

“It must be your arm,” you said as if you cracked the code. “How strong is it? Can you crack a blender in half? Oh! You could probably carry me up here with just the one arm, that’s how strong it is! Right, Bucky?”

Being drunk meant you didn’t see how he stiffened before you at the mention of his arm. He tossed your shoes in the corner of the room and pulled a t-shirt from his dresser drawer. “What do you mean?” he asked as he began to undress you.

You grabbed the wrist if his left arm. Surprisingly, he allowed you. Both of you watched as you gently removed the glove to come face to face with a metal hand. “I saw it this morning,” you explained in awe. “It’s metal. I don’t know how much but you still have to have some sorta super strength, right?”

“I don’t know…?”

“That’s why Peggy made me your baby,” you announced. “Because you have a metal arm and if Brock tries to hurt me again, you can knock his teeth out, huh?” The jacket and shirt came off only to be replaced with a t-shirt of Bucky’s that fit you more like a nightgown. He tossed your clothes aside and helped you step out of your pants. “But you’re so gentle! You didn’t bruise me like he did. You’re so sweet to me, Bucky Barnes, you know that?”

Weakly he smiled. “I do now.”

“I’m so glad you don’t bruise me,” you laughed, watching after him as he headed towards the bathroom. “One time he hit me so hard my eye swelled shut. I convinced Peggy I had the flu or some shit. Not the flu. Does the flu make you all swell-y and shit? I dunno.”

Bucky returned with a makeup remover wipe and a damp washcloth. “You’re so sweet!” you cooed, sitting still to let him wipe your face with both. “Never mean. Never a bruiser. How are you single, Bucky? You’re perfect!”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, undoing your hair. “Hey, don’t lay down yet! You need to drink some water.”

“Will you snuggle me tonight?” you asked, still trying to fall backwards and get comfortable. “I really wanna snuggle you. You don’t hurt me like Brock did. You won’t put me in the hospital. I like you.”

It wasn’t his place but curiosity was consuming him. Bucky looked at you carefully. You were rambling so much that he decided he could figure out what had actually happened, indulging in whatever you would blurt out. “What did Brock do to send you to the hospital?”

You grabbed at Bucky’s metal hand again and marveled at how it felt in your palm. “When I said I wasn’t in the mood he tied me up and tried anyways. But I got free. He didn’t like that so I ended up being stabbed.”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “He stabbed you?”

You nodded and giggled, throwing your arms around him. “Yeah. I’d rather be stabbed than fuck him again, though. He never made me come. It was painful and very disappointing.”

“What do you mean painful?”

“You’re too good at it,” you said happily. “He never did foreplay. Didn’t believe in eating out. He went in dry and expected me to get over it. You, oh, Bucky! You get me so wet I feel like a princess.” Suddenly, you mind clicked, and you quickly sat up and pulled up your shirt. “Bucky! You said before the date that you’d eat me out when we get home! You’re gonna eat me out! I’m so excited! I’ve never received oral before.”

“We have to wait until you’re sober,” he told you softly.

That broke your heart. “Nooo! Bucky, I’ve been waiting all night!”

“You can’t consent if you’re drunk.”

A heavy frown pulled at your lips. “I was excited, though.”

He kissed your forehead and smiled sadly at you. “It’s okay. We just have to wait a little bit. But as soon as you’re sober you just say the word and I’ll eat you out okay?”

You groaned and tried to lay back down despite Bucky’s grip on you. “Okay. It’s not fair, but okay. Will you snuggle me?”

“Yes.”

“Wrap both arms around me,” you instructed, trying to pull him closer to you. “I want to feel so safe. I won’t have any nightmares about Brock anymore. It’s just you and me, Bucky, and you’re gonna eat me out in the morning and I’m gonna have the time of my life. No more bruises, either. Cos you’re a gentleman, and I’m your baby.”

Waking up in the morning was a mistake. It was eleven and your head was pounding, rattling through your skull and leaving you blinking slowly and breathing hard to try to manage it. Drinking wasn’t a common occurrence for you. Luckily the blinds were drawn and a glass of water was on your nightstand. You downed it all and fell back against the pillows with a soft whine. Fuck, everything hurt.

The door opened revealing Bucky with a tray in his hands, filled with food and water, dressed in just a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Nothing covered his arm; his flaws were free and out in the open for you to gawk at. Except you knew you probably said shit last night. Every dumb word you said came flooding into your memories and you looked away from his arm--you caused this. You brought in discomfort.

“Hey,” he said softly, setting the tray on the bed beside you and sitting close. “I figured you’d be hungry. Well, mostly hungover, but you need to eat something anyways.”

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could say. Tears swelled into your eyes as you watched him, fearing the absolute worst. Would he hit you? Strike you right where you sat for your behavior? With Brock all it took was one small mistake for you to be doubled over with a bloody nose and a split lip. Was this where you had to beg for forgiveness? 

“What are you sorry for?” he asked, shaking a bottle of ibuprofen into his hands. Two for you, one for him. He gave you the pills and handed you a glass of water. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I got drunk and ruined date night.” You wanted to grab his hand--either one--but you weren’t strong enough to try. “I probably said things. I brought up your arm and I probably embarrassed you in front of everyone.” You took the pills slowly, having trouble tilting your head back without pain shooting through your head. Punishment was served.

“The only thing you did was tell me how beautiful I was and how you liked my arm,” he chuckled. “It wasn’t horrible. You did say a few things I wanted to talk about, if that’s okay.” He took the water from you when you were done and set it on the tray. Everything looked so good. Pancakes, fruit, bacon, croissants--he was spoiling you, probably to drag the truth from you. 

You took a deep breath and hid your fears. “Okay.”

His face twisted into something confused. You were sure he was debating his words, picking the right ones. Thoughts came and went but finally, he swallowed his worry and said straight out, “You said Brock stabbed you.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I’m so stupid! I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have gone there. It was really unprofessional and--”

“Calm down,” Bucky cooed. “Look at me. I asked you about it. I was curious, and you were spilling everything left and right.”

“It was my fault,” you explained rather quickly. Your face was heating up by the minute and every word out of you mouth seemed to spill out faster and faster. “I was his baby, and the contract stated sex was on the table as pleased and I said no. I gave him permanent consent and decided one day I wasn’t feeling it, he got mad.”

Bucky was bewildered. “What? Are you saying you deserved to be stabbed?”

“I told him no.”

“You said he tied you up.”

All you could do was nod. “He tied me up and when I broke free he hit me. And then he stabbed me.”

“How many times did he hit you?”

You moved the covers off of you, lifted you shirt, rolled to the side and pulled your panties down to show your ass. Bucky could have puked at the sight. There were so many scars along your ass cheeks, still distinct against your actual skin color, jagged and angry. His eyes traveled up to your stomach--how did he not notice that before? A thick scar was on the side, closer to the front of your stomach. 

“He stabbed me and when I couldn’t move because of the pain, he fucked me and left me there. Luckily he left right after and I could call Peggy.”

“You’ve been through all of that and you’re not afraid of my metal arm?”

You shook your head softly, barely noticeable. “If after all I did last night and you’re still being sweet to me, I don’t think I could ever be afraid of you. Plus, a girlfriend would love every part of you there is. Your arm is no different from any other part of you, Bucky. And I mean that.”

You finished your breakfast in peace and after three more glasses of water, a little mid-morning (early afternoon, more like) nap was due. Bucky lie beside you and the two of you spent your Sunday morning like any (fake) couple would.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence scene

Sometimes, there were awkward moments in life. Drinking and continuing to babble while drunk was probably one of the worst ones but that couldn’t be helped. Not then, at least, as you stood in your fake boyfriend’s shower and scrubbed your skin raw. Any mistakes made were astounding. Not only did you tell him you were stabbed and hit, but you showed him the scars. That seemed way too personal. If he hadn’t seen them during sex then he didn’t notice and didn’t need to. But no! You just had to go and show him.

You had a problem with getting attached. Maybe that was why you stayed with Brock as long as you did, you thought you loved him and vice versa. Brock never loved you or claimed to, though, you were just young and naïve.

You were nothing but a bought and paid for item to him--every inch of your skin was paid for and used however he fucking wanted. Every time he came across your chest and pushed you out of bed you found another hundred dollars in your account. Being used brought great benefits, sure, but after a while the money wasn’t enough to fix the pain. And you told Peggy. She was naive at the time, too, and said she’d handle it. The next she heard from you, you were in the hospital...

Would you be the same with Bucky? Everything would go to your head and you’d forget, once again, that you were paid and not an actual lover. James didn’t actually love you, he just wanted someone to make his house a little less lonely. You turned off the water, finished and clean head to toe, before stepping out and grabbing a towel.

He was waiting in the doorway for you, finally dressed, but only in joggers and a t-shirt. “You okay?” he asked softly, looking up from his phone and watching your every move.

“Yes.” But were you? It didn’t matter. You needed to be. And right now, you could have drowned it out with some pleasure—after all, he owed you from last night. You dropped the towel and let your wet body be bare to him. Everything; your breasts and hard nipples, your stomach and lashed ass, your long wet legs that still had water droplets racing towards your ankles, and your hair that stuck to your neck and shoulders. “But I could be better.”

He approached you with a soft gaze and an even softer kiss. You melted into him as he picked you up, never breaking his touch with you. Dammit, you were trying not to get all mushy around him but as he set you in the bed and pulled back to stare at you, all you could feel was the way your heart beat in your chest.

“Make me yours,” you found yourself saying.

He pulled a pillow from the headboard and positioned it under your hips. It elevated you; you could no longer look down and see him staring back up at you, but you didn’t need that. All you could think about was the way the air hit your exposed cunt and how his eyes took it all in. “Who owns this?”

“What?” You looked up, confused, but as he gently slapped your slit you gasped at the sensation and understood what he was saying.

“Who. Owns. This?” He eventually slapped slightly harder, a disgustingly erotic sound erupting as a result. 

“You,” you answered. His tone went directly to your core. The way he looked at you with those bedroom eyes made you want to reach your hand down and start to get yourself off.

“That’s right. Just me.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss right above your clit, lips gentle and dragging down your slit as soft as could be. His warm exhale made you nearly cry out. “And who gets to treat you like this?” he asked, his stubble rubbing against you as he spoke.

“Only you,” you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

He picked himself up to look at you, smiling as he lowered himself over you to kiss your navel, traveling down lower until his lips ghosted your swollen clit. “Did you mean what you said about this being a first?” Bucky asked before using his tongue to slick up your slit.

“Oh—yes. Yeah, I meant it. God.”

He chuckled. “If you thought my fingers were great, wait until you get me really going.” The pressure from his tongue was intense in its own sort of way. There was no harsh pressure at first, as he was just teasing, but as he flattened his tongue against your clit and quickly switched into sucking against it, you hand flew to his hair and latched on.

“Fuck!”

Luckily, he didn’t pull back to tease. He had you pressed jerking against the mattress and pulling his hair, moaning, tears nearly in your eyes from how good it felt. Brock wasn’t putting his face anywhere near your pussy any time soon, and of course, you had to suck it up and deal with it. But Bucky went down on you as if you were a whole fucking feast laid before him. As he licked against your clit he teased you entrance with his index finger, not quite thrusting inside, but keeping it occupied.

“Please don’t stop. Please let me come, please.”

He devoured you and slipped two fingers inside, twisting them to hit your sweet spot almost instantly, sending you rocking against his face with a cry.

“You own it! Bucky, it’s all yours, please!”

He applied more pressure with his tongue, pressing your clit as much as he could, and with one final thrust of his fingers you were coming with a shout. Tears pricked your eyes but in a good way—your entire body was trembling as Bucky suckled gently at your clit to ride out your high. Everything was sensitive and beautiful.

“There will never be a day I won’t let you come,” he said suddenly, breaking your train of thought. “It’s no fun if I can’t share the pleasure. I may tease you a bit, sure, but you’ll come one way or another. I hope they’re all as sweet as that one.”

“You’re going to exhaust me,” you panted. Before he could stop you, you pushed yourself up to your elbows to look down at him, watching his every move. Of course his stubble was wet. He pulled his fingers out of you reluctantly and sucked them clean effortlessly. “You look so pretty when you do that.”

A smile spread across his face. “I’m glad you think so.”

“You’re pretty all the time,” you laughed, sitting up to meet him for a kiss. “You’re very good at that. I’m glad I was sober for that.”

“I…” Bucky frowned against your lips. It stayed there even as you pulled back. “Hey. You know this is all consensual, right?”

You nodded.

“You have to be sober and willing all the time, or else it doesn’t happen.”

“I know.”

“Why do you sound so surprised, then?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just nice to know you’re normal.”

“What do you count normal?”

“You being nice and actually safe in your sex practices.” You kissed him again and pulled back to poke his nose. “Also, you’re a pussy eating God. That’s amazing. Not normal, per se, but very much worth mentioned.”

Bucky laughed at that. It was a musical laughter that made you giggle yourself and watch him like an amused toddler. “A god,” he echoed cutely, pushing you back against the mattress. “Like Zeus? You know... lightning strikes more than once.”

“I don’t know enough about lightning to dispute that fact but okay.” Before he could give another remark, you threw your legs over his shoulders and pulled him into you, right where you wanted. “Maybe that makes me the ever-demanding Hera,” you mused as you positioned him below you. “I’d like another lightning strike, beautiful.”

“My pleasure.”

And the afternoon was lost to puns and orgasms.

Time seemed to blur together with Bucky, and that was nice. You found yourself getting your work done at school (you worked very hard in between lectures, surprisingly) so your evenings were filled with Bucky and a false sense of love. As soon as your last lecture hit, you spent the next hour completing any homework or beginning any papers before racing back to his place. You changed into sweatpants, he did the same. It was a win-win and life was going soothingly.

You cooked dinner for him and had it ready by the time he came home. Any exhaustion melted away as he saw you, and a smile made itself visible. Cuddles were shared, sometimes sex was involved, and at night he rolled over and threw his arm over you and kissed your head. Life was good. The only real conflict was Bucky’s hatred for your car.

He hinted as much as possible that he hated it—it was trashy and you worked hard enough to deserve a nicer one, was what he said. He tried to break down your walls, to buy you another one, but you refused. 

“There’s nothing sentimental about it, is there?” he asked. When you shook your head he continued, “Then let’s sell it off to a demolition derby and get you a new one. This is not a safe vehicle.”

You scoffed, sitting on the floor painting your toes as he sat on the couch, files scattered around him again, but barely working. “What makes it unsafe?”

“It’s so old you have to manually unlock it. That could be a problem if you need get get into it quickly.” Rolling his sleeves up broke his listing. He leaned back, crossing his leg and propping his head up with his exposed metal arm. “The airbags don’t work. You could end up with some nasty injuries. I’m sure someone’s been birthed in the back seat it’s so damn old.”

“Hey! The first two were actual problems,” you whined, “that’s just mean.”

“You could have anything,” Bucky practically pleaded. “Y/N, you need a car. A good one, a safe one. Peggy told me yours won’t even make it up the hill unless it goes over a certain speed.”

“I can’t afford a car right now.”

“I can.”

“I don’t need another one,” you countered. “It’s not realistic. And you can’t spend that much money on me just because.”

He smirked. “There’s no law saying I can’t.”

“Bucky!”

“It’s a car,” he argued. “You can pick whatever you want. Or we could get one custom made for you if you’d like.”

You couldn’t help but to snort and look up from your toenails. “Do you get off spending large amount of money on me?” you joked, waiting for him to laugh and throw another joke back. But he didn’t. It never came. Instead, Bucky’s cheeks turned red—bypassing their usual pink, a deep red, something of utter embarrassment. It was like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Oh my God!” The nail polish was capped at this revelation. It was just too damn good. “Do you seriously have a thing for buying me shit?”

Bucky groaned and threw down the files he was working on. “The sex after I bought you that shit was just really good, okay? I’m glad I kept sneaking things into the cart.”

Laughter escaped you, bubbling out uncontrollably. “Fuck! You’re serious.”

“Why are you being so difficult? Just lemme buy you a car.”

You grabbed the nail polish remover from the side and smirked as you opened it, your attention falling back on yourself. “If you’re that desperate, why don’t you try paying off some of my student loans?”

It takes two seconds for you to realize what you’d done. Bucky reached for his laptop, and you were wide-eyed with fear. “No—Bucky, I was kidding. Stop that.”

“It would be great for all of us, though.” He did have a point. The sex wound be amazing and you’d be out of debt...

You threw a cotton ball at him. “No! Bucky, I owe nearly a hundred-fifty grand.”

“Check or card?”

You groaned. “No.”

“I better hurry before more interest adds up,” he teased. “Is that better?”

“Fuck. I didn’t calculate the interest.” You crawled towards him, careful not to smudge your toes, and ran your hands up to his knees, keeping them there. “Why can’t I just blow you and we pretend you spent the money on me?”

Even though his breathing hitched, he remained firm in his argument. “Not the same.”

“You can always fuck my mouth,” you offered sweetly. You now found yourself on your knees, spreading his legs ever so slightly. He granted you access; it was effortless, the way his knees fell to either side and he leaned back against the couch. Bliss was apparent in his blue eyes. They followed your fingers as they danced up his thighs and slid gracefully up his lap.

“I’d rather drop thousands and bury myself inside your sweet little cunt.” Bucky let out a breath and slowly set down his file. 

Well, he was surely determined. “I’ll make you a deal. If in four months you still think paying my loans will be better for your nut, I’ll gladly give you the login info,” you said, mouth ghosting over his semi-hard cock. You placed a kiss on his hand which rested idly on his stomach. “But for now, maybe you have to earn that right. You wanna spoil me? Work for it.”

Surprisingly, Bucky was ready to be submissive. He nodded quickly and watched you carefully. “Whatever you say,” he breathed. “I’ll work for it.”

Being in charge was very weird. Using his knees to hold on to, you pulled yourself up and straddled his thigh, resting on it and placing your hands against his chest to steady you. It wasn’t bad, though, and Bucky looked at you as if you held the world in the palm of your hands. “I’m so good for you,” you said softly, rolling your hips ever so slightly. The friction was sweet, and while it offered him no release, he sighed happily. “Will you be good for me? My sweet boy?”

Bucky gave up every ounce of authority he had. “Yes,” he murmured. “I’ll do whatever it takes, let me spoil you, doll. Show me what I need to do.”

Oh, this was blissful in itself. “Touch me,” you whispered.

His hands ran up your side, pushing your shirt with them. It came off in one swift motion and you were left topless, only a flimsy bralette caging your breasts. His mouth nearly watered as he watched you swivel your hips.

“What do you want, Bucky?”

“You.”

“You have me,” you chuckled, palming him through his sweatpants. “I’m all yours, remember? You just have to decide how you want me.”

“Any way you’ll have me.”

And boy, did he strike a nerve. You were suddenly overcome with lust and affection that you nearly tackled him right then and there, taking him in your hand and making him come as fast as you could. But instead you leaned into him and lifted your ass. “I’m a little too overdressed,” you said.

Your clothes were strewn across the floor. As for him, all he tad time to do was pull his pants down enough to free his cock, throbbing with anticipation, before you found your way to straddle him once more. Bucky remained submissive, waiting for you to take control. God, how beautiful he was. You grabbed his chin and made him look at you, bringing his face closer until your noses had brushed against each other’s. “Please,” you whispered, “prove to me you’re my good boy.”

And that, he did.

After you came—last, of course, because you took way too long to be sent over the edge—Bucky brushed the hair back from your face and watched you intently. “God,” he groaned, chest still heaving. “You’re perfect.”

“And me taking charge wasn’t… bad?”

“No way.” He gave a small smile, shy out of nowhere. “That was amazing. I wouldn’t mind a round two later, if that’ll grant me a sneak peak of your wish list.”

You laughed and pulled away from him, his soft dick sliding out as you stood on the floor. “Maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

The next day wasn’t settling right in your stomach. The two of you, after a nice morning shower (not together, sadly), dressed and shared a nice breakfast at Dunkin’ Donuts. The iced coffee sat in your knotted stomach but you still pushed a smile to your face. Anxiety was a bitch, that much was obvious. However, it was probably nothing, as always, and you weren’t trying to get him all worried or angry over your mood. He kissed you on the cheek and you two parted ways.

Classes dragged on to the point you were ready to lose your mind. Luckily the last one was cancelled and you all but ran to your car in hopes of going home and relaxing before Bucky got there. Being stressed around him just made your anxiety and, well, stress then times worse. It wasn’t pleasant. If you could work out the knots from the day’s heavy cast you would be golden. But life didn’t work that well before and it wasn’t going to start now.

Waiting by your car was Brock. He looked as calm and sweet as the day you met him but you weren’t the same girl anymore. Millions of thoughts ran through your mind--this wasn’t happening. All you could feel was a sharp pain in your side, like you’d been stabbed all over again, just by looking at him. He was actually here and not an imagination. Luckily for you, however, he didn’t see you. He was waiting patiently without ever catching a glimpse of you. Impulsively, you back track and keep your head down, walking towards the university café.

Your couldn’t dial Peggy’s number fast enough. It rang itself right into voicemail, and when she didn’t pick up a second time, you had to fight the tears. People paid no attention to you so it wasn’t a huge deal. The rejection when you needed her so damn bad, however, stung worse than anything else at that moment.

You tried calling again, except when it went to voicemail, you recorded a message. “Peggy, I know you’re probably busy, but it’s an emergency and I need you. Brock is by my car and I’m too afraid to leave. Please call me back when you get this.”

No answer. You waited for ten minutes before staring at your phone and wondering if you should call again. No. He should have been gone by now, and you couldn’t always rely on others to fix your messes. With tears stinging your eyes, you walked out of the café and made your way down to the parking lot once more.

“Y/N,” he said when he saw you. He was almost shocked to see you, coming closer and willingly standing within twenty feet of him. Reflexively, he reached out to grab you and pull you closer to him as if he was still a dominant figure in your life.

“No.” You stopped before you car, hands on the rusted hood as if you ground yourself. “I’m not talking to you.”

“I miss you.”

“You always say that after you beat the shit out of me,” you groaned. “I’ll call Peggy if you don’t leave me alone.”

Brock was not here to play. “I think we both know that Peggy didn’t answer the first time,” he said before reaching for your bag, practically wrestling it off if you, throwing it to the ground. “Just listen to me.”

You were frozen in fear. Brock’s hands held your hips in place, thumbs against your hips as if he still had power over you, a sort of sexual dominance that was terrifying.

“I want you to come back,” he murmured with a squeeze. “I know Barnes is paying you well. I’ll give you three grand a week.”

Fuck, why did this have to happen today? “I’m happy in my current situation, thank you,” you said as firmly as you could but the waiver was your downfall. “Please leave me alone.”

Brock cupped your face but it was nothing like Bucky would do; it was harsh and all too tight, his hand aiming to reach bruising levels of pressure. “I love you,” he told you. “I want you back. I’ll make you happy, I’ll spoil you. All the money you want.”

“Get your hands off of me.”

“I’m talking to you nicely,” he growled.

You moved to escape him, shaking him of his grasp on you, only to trip over his feet and find yourself lying on the ground. When you looked back at him with a stinging face, he just raised an eyebrow. “Stop being a baby. Let’s get that cleaned up and we can negotiate our terms again.”

“Don’t come near me!”

He pulled you up by your jean jacket and scoffed. “Was this a gift?” he asked, rather unimpressed. “Barnes could have done better. I guess it shows how lowly he thinks of you. I bought you nicer things.” In one swift motion the jacket was ripped, the sleeve nearly severing from the body of it. “You don’t really think he cares about you, do you?”

“He hasn’t stabbed me,” you shot back at him. You grabbed your sleeve and tried to pull away from him. Unfortunately, he was grabbing at you to keep you there. “Brock, I mean it, let go of me.”

He pressed his lips against yours and held you against your will. It wasn’t right. Nothing about it felt right. His lips weren’t soft or gentle like Bucky’s, and they didn’t leave your knees weak. Maybe once upon a time Brock had meant something to you. You would have melted against him and took this, pretending it was love and that you actually mattered. But you knew the reason he was pushing himself on you; you were the only one that would have him. Shoving weakly against him didn’t work out too well; your hands pressed against his chest only for him to grab them and pin you to the car. “Don’t fight it,” he growled, moving to kiss along your jaw. “I missed you so much. I want you. Right now.” He pushed against you without warning. His knees pressed your legs open to stand between them, almost to make you straddle him. The two of you battled for dominance until finally, you won a small little battle. The war, however, was far from over.

“Get off of me!” Somehow your knee came up to his groin fast enough to take him down. He doubled over and nearly hit the ground, but it was just enough for you to grab your bag and jump into the driver’s seat. Fear clouded your mind as you locked all the doors and scrambled to put the key in the ignition. Brock was not one to challenge; going against him would only anger him further to the point of bodily harm. Every scar on your body stung with the memory of what he had done to you. The stabbing, the lashings, every fucking slap that had ever been placed on your skin suddenly burned in your mind, burned your skin, like it was all coming back. You needed to get out of here. Now. If you could make it out of the parking lot you could drive to Peggy’s office, a populated public place, somewhere you could bring attention to the situation.

Brock wasn’t giving up, though, and he stood up shakily with a groan. Dark eyes pierced your body, looking through the window as you frantically tried to start your car. “I’m done asking you nicely,” he hissed, pounding on the door. “Open up! Y/N, open the fucking door!”

Your heart nearly stopped. Turning the key did nothing. The care wouldn’t roar to life, it barely even sputtered as you turned the key, gripping the steering wheel as tight as you could. Brock’s fists pounded the window as you tried. One fist after another striked against it. The car stalled before turning the key barely resulted in a sad little whine, signifying it was dead past repair. 

The window shattered before you could grab your phone. You gasped--shards went flying at you, and you had to close your eyes and duck as to not get hurt. If you could have just moved over to the other side, to climb over the console and run out the passenger door, you were free. It wasn’t easy, and as soon as you leaned over to the other seat, lying across it, he had the door unlocked and opened. He pulled you back, dragging your body across the little pieces of glass carelessly. Your skin was pricked and beginning to bleed in multiple places, more holes were added to your jean jacket and leggings but what was there to do? Your car was dead, Peggy was ignoring you, and now your face was bleeding because of the glass. There wasn’t even anyone around to help you.

“You bring everything on yourself,” he snapped as he pushed you down against the hood of your car. “Everything I’ve done to you is because you don’t know your place. I’m in charge, here, and I think I need to remind you just how submissive you are.”

Fear had paralyzed you. Brock towered over you, stronger as always. Yelling would have only made him mad, of course, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. But in that moment, all you could think of was Bucky. If he were here, he’d protect you; he’d be smart enough to defuse the situation and send Brock awak. With a clouded mind you yelled out. You yelled for anyone, for someone to come to your aid, but his fingers wrapped tightly around your throat, his hips keeping you against the car and in a completely vulnerable position. Your vision was dimming as he shook you, screaming in your face and threatening you, only to halt as someone else drew near. He released you--you fell to the cement with a gasp of breath, tears in your eyes and a struggle to see your surroundings. 

“You’re lucky we’re in public,” he hissed--as if being in public had stopped him from initiating the entire thing. “You have one week.”

“I don’t want a damn thing to do with you,” you gasped, wiping the blood from your lip.

“You little--”

“Is everything alright?” a woman called out a few cars away. You were on the ground trying to collect yourself, so they couldn’t see the extent of the damage done. 

“Everything’s fine,” Brock said smoothly. “She locked her keys in her car so we had to break the window. Now the damn thing won’t start so we have to wait for a friend. Thank you, though, that was very kind of you.” And the woman left.

Brock looked down at you and shoved his hands in his pockets. “One week,” he repeated. “You’re it for me, darling. I’ll treat you better than he can.”

As soon as Brock left, you scrambled for your phone. Peggy never called you back. It was an odd sense of betrayal that hit your stomach but you had to realize that Peggy was her own person. James was your only hope at this point… even though he was busy. If this was just a casual case of Brock being Brock, you would have just hopped in your car and went home. You were stranded, though, and you weren’t sure if you could stand being on public transportation.

You had a message to Bucky pulled up before you could even decide for or against it.

YOU: Would you mind picking me up after work? My car won’t start.

BUCKY: Of course. But does this mean I can buy you a new one? ;)

YOU: Haha, maybe!

You don’t know how long you waited. You sat in your car--towards the entrance of the lot, luckily--and waited for Bucky to come and rescue you. The blood on your face had dried but your one eye was swollen shut, marked with a violent purple ring around it. You could still taste blood on your lip. What would Bucky say about your ruined jacket? Would he be upset at you? You sat in your seat filled with tiny shards of broken glass and waited with the driver’s door wide open.

Finally, when his sleek SUV pulled up beside your car, you felt like you could breathe. Tears began to pool in the corners of your eyes no matter how hard you tried biting them back. All the pain weighed you down; you couldn’t move from the seat, or even move to close the door. Bucky came around to meet you with a smile, only to falter and quickly grow concerned. “Y/N?”

“I just want to go home,” you said quickly, blinking more tears away. “I… can you help me?”

As soon as he grabbed your hand to help you out of the seat, you broke. A sob rattled through your ribs and sent more pain throbbing through your body. James knew what you needed, though, he somehow had that skill to evaluate your emotional pain and pull you in accordingly. He was quick to let you fall against his chest and sob into his nice suit jacket as if it were nothing more than a sloppy t-shirt. Mascara stained his collar but he didn’t care. Not when he watched you cry so hard from all the pain you had just endured.

“I got you,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you, Y/N, I’m here.”


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as you arrived back at his place--of course it took a while since he made sure you had everything from your car--Bucky ran you a bath and helped you settle into it. He undressed you as gently as he could, brushing broken glass from your chest just like a real boyfriend would. Once you were in the warm water he wet a rag and tried to wash the blood off of your face.

“We’re going to get you all cleaned up,” he murmured, wincing as he picked pieces of glass from your hair. “If I’m hurting you I want you to tell me. It’s important.”

“Okay.” You sucked in a breath and allowed yourself to lean back. “I’m sorry you had to come get me. I know it’s not very professional. Peggy wasn’t answering her phone and—“

“Peggy?” he asked. It was as if he was hurt that he was a second choice. He quickly recovered though, shaking it off as he continued. “It’s unlike her to decline a call. How many times did you call her?”

“Two? Three? I left her a voicemail eventually and when she didn’t respond I walked to my car.”

His jaw clenched, then relaxed. James was holding himself back from saying something, but you couldn’t quite place it. Rolling up his sleeves to keep them dry, he dunked the rag once more and tried again on your face. “Don’t ever apologize for asking me to come get you,” he said. “I’ve had my dick in you. Just because we’re not an actual couple doesn’t mean I won’t come help you.”

“I was just being stupid,” you whispered through the tears. You turned your head to look at him. “He said you didn’t care about me. And I knew he was just manipulating me and trying to get under my skin but I’m so used to having a dom that fucks me until I bleed and leave me there after giving me money, I’m not used to you being nice and buying me a jean jacket just because and actually making me a bath because I got the shit beat out of me.” At this point you were crying steadily and all he could do was watch sadly. “You’re so sweet,” you croaked, “and I was afraid that if he said that it would come true. I wanted to call you to get me right then and there but I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not a bother,” he assured you sadly, wiping your tears. “And just because I’m paying you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I want you to call me if anything goes wrong, you understand me? Even if you have a hangnail.”

James wished he had the courage to hold you the way he wanted to. It was probably a little too intimate, though, and he didn’t want to upset you or make you any more uncomfortable than you already were. The water bounced in rings around you as you shook. Emotions took a toll on you but even as you cried, Bucky couldn’t help but to fall further in love with you. You owned his heart. Nothing could be done about that--every smile, every dinner, every hug, every kiss, and every moan you gave weighed on his heart until finally, it was under your shackles. Love, he decided, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. He couldn’t scare you off with a love confession. Even if you were in his dreams, even if you were the first thing he smiled at in the morning, even if he wanted nothing more than to buy you every little thing your heart desired, he couldn’t put that pressure on you. Especially not now, as you leaned in his bathtub with a bloodied nose and black eye, trying to calm your breathing--he loved you too much to make it your problem.

You grabbed a hold of his had to keep him near you. “Please stay,” you pleaded. “Stay with me? Just for a few minutes. I’m sorry I’m being clingy.”

“I’ll stay,” he assured you. He let his head rest against his arm as he leaned against the tub, letting you hold his hand until you stopped crying. The silence set in around you both peacefully and snug, calming you down to where your heart beat almost matched his. Nothing more was said in that moment. When the water ran cold, he helped lift you out and dry you off to dress you in one of his henley’s and a pair of underwear. He ordered pizza and you got to lie against his chest as you both waited for it to come.

The evening was uneventful. You ate, snuggled, and retired to bed early. James followed just to curl around you, to put his metal arm across your waist and reassure you, “if anyone wants to come near you again, they’ll have to get through the arm.”

By morning, Bucky had your car towed and taken care of. You could tell he was holding back his excitement of getting to buy you a new car, since the circumstances were a bit unfortunate, but you were thankful he was holding off. Maybe you’d surprise him with a car wishlist. But he told you the news as he brought you breakfast in bed and pressed a cold cloth to your face. Cinnamon rolls and fruit salad, completed with a cup of tea and a plate of bacon. Everything smelled so wonderful. You couldn’t help but to grab a piece of bacon even as he tried to soothe your aching face.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, careful around your black eye.

“It’s sore but I’ve had worse.” You grabbed his metal hand and slowly guided it to your face. The cool metal was amazing against your skin. A smile couldn’t help but to spread itself over your face. “That feels better. Maybe I’ll make you spend all morning with me. I hope we’re not late.” When Bucky didn’t answer, you panicked and grabbed your phone. It was ten o’clock. “Fuck! We’re late.” You threw off the covers and tried to stand up, but Bucky was holding you back.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I called off and I emailed your professors from your laptop. Family emergency.” Bucky covered you back up; it wasn’t like you were cold but you only wore his shirt and a pair of underwear. If your entire body didn’t ache you’d probably initiate something. After all, he was technically your sugar daddy. It was clouded by the stinging in your face and the fact you, a grad student, were currently missing classes. 

“I can’t miss classes.”

“You can’t exactly sit long without Tylenol, either.” Carefully, he let his thumb stroke your cheek, the cooling sensation beautiful in itself. “Long weekend.”

“But you’re missing work for me,” you argued. “You can’t. I’m not important enough for you to miss work.”

“Hey—“

“I’m not even your real girlfriend,” you sighed, “I’m just a paid one. That’s not a good enough reason to miss work.”

What he couldn’t tell you was how his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of you. He couldn’t begin to describe how much he longed to hold you and how every time you brought up the fact you two weren’t an actual couple, it only shattered his world. Instead, he swallowed his thoughts and smiled weakly at you. “I think you’re a perfectly good reason.”

You accepted that answer with a shy smile and continued to pick at the breakfast he made.

“I wanted to talk to you about another thing,” he said, breaking off a bite of your cinnamon roll. “I drew up papers for a restraining order. I know it’s not my place, but I do care about you, and I could have Steve help us with any legal matters. But I think we have more than enough evidence to obtain one without a problem.”

“I’d like that,” you said. “Thank you.”

You two ate breakfast in silence, small talk here and there, but you could tell he was trying to hold back. What do you do when your sugar baby gets beat up by an old client? He picked around what you didn’t finish and remained there as a rock for you to cling to. Never had you imagined getting yo live part of your life with someone like Bucky.

Your face heated in admiration and, unsettled to see him so serious, you finally caved in desperation to see him happy. “I think I’d like something with a back-up cam,” you announced, not looking at him as you stole the grape from his hand. “Those are pretty cool.”

“Huh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe an SUV, I’d really like a dog at some point.” You waited. “Did you change your mind?”

“On…” It clicked. And it worked. His face lit up and he practically jumped off of the bed. “I’ll go get my laptop!” he yelled as he ran down the hall to his office.

Success.

After dinner, Peggy came to visit you. She looked at you, curled up in bed where you barely moved from, with tears in her eyes and her had covering her mouth. “Oh my God… Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t get your calls until this morning and… oh, God, look at you.”

“I’m sure it looks worse than it is.” You pushed yourself up to sit, smiling at her, but it only hurt her heart more.

Peggy didn’t know how to handle this. “I wasn’t there when you needed me,” she said shakily. “If I just answered you this wouldn’t be real, you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“It’s okay, Peggy.”

“No, it’s not.” She sat beside you and looked at you, at every bruised inch of skin. It haunted her. You hadn’t looked this bad since Brock stabbed you. All she could think about was holding you, lifeless and bloody, while she called for help. “If I would have lost you…”

“But you didn’t.” You smiled at her. “I’m okay, I promise. Bucky’s taking good care of me.”

“He’d better,” Peggy murmured. “Do you need anything? I can run to the store for you. I know you probably don’t want to be alone right now, so Bucky could stay here while I run out or vice-versa.”

“I’m fine,” you answered. “But thank you.”

Bucky joined eventually, and the three of you continued talking. You grew tired as the conversation drew on. After a while, it was just Peggy and James that we’re talking, as you snored softly against the pillows, facing him as well as resting your hand over his.

Peggy waited until you were deeper into sleep to pull Bucky into the hall and glare. “You have feelings for her,” she accused in a low voice, and he knew that she was not happy about it at all. “I thought you’d be a good fit for her to test the waters, to make sure she didn’t get hurt, and you actually have feelings for her!”

Bucky fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t see how that’s a problem. It’s not like I’m acting on it.”

“What kind of fucking sugar daddy kisses her and holds her until she falls asleep?” Peggy demanded, struggling to keep her voice down. “For fuck’s sake, James. I’m trying so hard to keep her head above water.”

He wanted to be angry right back at her, but all he felt was guilt. You had been through so much--was Peggy right? Liking you would have been bad for you, for how far you’ve recovered? “I’m not acting on it,” he repeated, the bite in his tone faltering. “I wouldn’t hurt her, Peg, and you know that. I just… she makes me so happy.” The past few weeks with you have been pure bliss. Your kisses, the little hugs, the dinners and just shared time lying against each other and watching TV. He couldn’t help but to fall for you. Every soft touch you gave his metal arm, his stubbly chin, his clothed chest when you tried to get comfortable against him. “Peggy,” he pleaded softly, “I would never hurt her. I’m sorry this wasn’t what you wanted, but she doesn’t know. I promise. This is between you and me.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Peggy snapped. “Wait until you fuck up and make a move on her?”

“First of all,” James said, “I’m not doing anything she’s uncomfortable with. I made this clear. We talked about consent, we’ve talked about boundaries, hell, I even offered to put it in the contract. I told her if I ever do anything to hurt her, she can lock herself in her room and call you. I put a fucking lock on her own room just to make sure she felt safe.” His blood was boiling, but mostly out of fear Peggy had a different motive for this attack. “Second, she is not a baby. She can make her own decisions. If you didn’t want her fucking around with freak with a metal arm, then you shouldn’t have given her to me.”

This was getting heated quick, and Peggy’s eyes were filled with rage as she clenched her fists by her side. “This isn’t about you, James. This is about the fact I watched her almost die in my arms. I promised her I’d be there for her, I promised her she’d get the most out of this fucking quote-unquote job, and I had to hold her while we waited for the ambulance. She almost died. I’m not going to make the same mistakes. I gave her to you because I know you’re not a psychopath or an abuser. You weren’t supposed to catch feelings.”

“You can’t blame me for something I didn’t do!” James said. “I’ve never laid a hand on her. I won’t even hit her during sex.”

“And that’s another thing,” Peggy interrupted, “you were so fucking eager to get your dick inside of her, huh? You fucked her the first day even though you knew how sensitive of a subject it was.”

James’ face flushed red with rage. He tilted his chin up and glared daggers at Peggy, who didn’t back down, not even at this sight. “She initiated it. The first sexual encounter we had, my dick wasn’t involved. I focused on her. I fingered her. And you can ask her your damn self unless you’re tired of playing nanny all the time.” Having had enough, James turned his back towards her and made his way towards the staircase, but Peggy was far from done.

She followed after him angrily. “You’re so fucking selfish! I should have never trusted you with her. She’s in your bedroom without any fucking pants on and I’m supposed to think you’re respecting her personal boundaries?”

What a nerve she had. James turned right before the banister and tried so hard to keep his voice down. “I know how to treat human beings,” he nearly yelled. “You’re so worried about her you’re trying to shelter her. I love her, for God’s sake, and I’ve promised you I’m not going to make her uncomfortable. She’s in my bed because she doesn’t want to be alone, she’s not wearing pants because she didn’t want to, and she’s sound asleep because she’s been through a lot. I’m not going to fuck her when she’s traumatized. I know you don’t like me but I’d never have guessed you thought so fucking low of me.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Are you done?”

“I guess not,” James laughed dryly. “I’ll go crash my car into the river or something. If she asks, the trash took itself out, because I’m such a piece of shit. I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

“You’re being dramatic! You’re twisting my words.”

“No,” he seethed, “I know exactly what you’re trying to say. I’m not worthy of love. I’m just your husband’s annoying friend that you can’t get rid of. You thought you could make me useful an use me as your puppet. Don’t do this, don’t do that, don’t fuck her, don’t buy her things, what-fucking-ever. I’m sorry you have to put up with me. Maybe I should have died in that accident six years ago, huh? That woulda made your life so much fucking easier.”

Peggy didn’t know what else to say. She swallowed the lump in her throat and straightened out. “I’ll see myself out,” she said curtly. “Goodnight, James.”

He said nothing as she passed him. Once he heard the door shut he wiped his eyes--irritated and ready to cry out of frustration--and locked up for the night. He trembled as he did so, each dark room nearly suffocating him, but it all melted away as he reached his bedroom. 

You looked so peaceful sleeping in his bed, breathing softly with your face against the pillow. How did James get so lucky? He watched your chest rise and fall gently—his heart began to beat so fast at the beautiful sight of you. Part of you was sprawled out on his side, angled oddly, but he didn’t mind. The scent of your perfume lingered around the room and invited him in, assuring him that he was meant to be happy and loved, that he wasn’t as bad as Peggy made him seem. He showered quickly and joined you in bed. Still sleeping, you curled against him with a small grunt of appreciation, and as Bucky turned off the lights, he felt his heartbeat calm in his chest, and your breathing lured him into a peaceful sleep.

It was a nightmare that woke him up. It involved you and Brock, the faceless bastard that pulled a gun on you and kept you out of James’ reach. He pleaded for your life, begged your abuser to take him instead, but life was cruel. His metal arm melted away to nothing and he was left defenseless. He couldn’t get to you in time. Brock shoved you against the ground and as soon as the gunshot rang through the air, Bucky woke up with a gasp.

You were sound asleep beside him. The clock read five in the morning—far too early to be awake on a Saturday. Bucky tried to ground himself by noticing things, like the time and the way you twitched your nose while you slept, but in the end it proved useless. Fuck. He sucked in a breath and tried to relax but it was all too real in his mind. The gunshot echoed in his mind only to torture him.

“James?” you whispered. “Are you alright?”

He hadn’t realized he woke you up. Then again, he was panting like crazy. “I’m fine,” he lied, scrambling to get out from underneath the covers. The anxiety made him overheat, something he would loathe for the rest of his life. Standing wasn’t possible on his jelly-like legs. 

“Can I hold you?” you asked.

“Not right now,” he gasped. “I don’t… I don’t trust myself. Not right now. Not right now. Not right now.”

“I trust you,” you assured with a yawn. “But it’s your call. I’m right here when you’re ready to be held.”

Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, Bucky curled into you, crying silently, as he shakily held onto you. Your fingers found their way into his hair as others trailed along his back. “I got you, my sweet boy,” you whispered against his forehead. “I’m here. I got you.”

How fucking pathetic was it that you had to coddle him? Even after you’d just been beaten? He couldn’t hate himself more, as he fell asleep as soon as you began to press kisses into his hair.

When the sunlight streamed through the windows and danced across the walls as it continued to rise, Bucky found himself stirring from a rather peaceful sleep. You were curled against him just as you were hours ago. The nightmare played out in his mind but it didn’t affect him the way it before--he knew you were here, you were safe, pressed against his chest as your drooled.

“I love you,” he whispered out loud. He didn’t mean to say it, not then, but he did mean every word. He loved you, he couldn’t help it. You were slowly taking over his life.

You said nothing. You were asleep. His secret was still kept from you, no matter how many times he whispered it to you, no matter how obvious he was. Head over heels for you, Bucky let himself fall asleep once more, your heartbeat thumping against his chest. What a perfect start to a Saturday.


	7. Chapter 7

James didn’t know how he ended up here, his face pressed into your shoulder as he danced with you along the marble flooring. Maybe it was a dream. The way your dress brushed against your ankles and tickled against his with every movement your beautiful body took. He knew this wasn’t how you wanted to spend your Saturday--it wasn’t the way he wanted his to go, either. Curling up against you or even making insanely slow love to you was what he wanted to do, but as you wrapped your arms around his neck and let out a content breath, he melted under your touch and decided it was a very nice Saturday after all.

The morning had consisted of many surprises and quick scrambling. Becca called, announcing an impromptu dinner party in a rented mansion, a black tie event, for something he wasn’t sure of. He didn’t even know she was back from Paris. It was followed by a call from his mother, who was crying and rambling on about how Becca was engaged. Of course, this meant he had to go and say, well, he was bringing his girlfriend to the event, the lavish engagement party that Rebecca has sprung on everyone, and his mother cried more. You smiled as Bucky had called you his girlfriend. So, in the end, you had to get up and shower so he could take you shopping.

You had turned back to him with a smile. “Wanna join me? We could save water that way.”

He wanted to. God, he would have ravished you in that fucking shower, then kissed you as soon as you came and gently washed your hair. He wanted to see every inch of you, because he wanted to be the person to have that ability, to call you his darling and mark you up only in the good way, with hickeys and love bites. But his arm was disgusting in his eyes. He had yet to be naked around you; all sex had been done with either just you in mind or half assed. It was easy for him to pull his dick out of his sweatpants and go to town.

“You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

“I just… you haven’t seen the whole arm yet,” he said cautiously. “I would love to, I’m sure getting fucked and then having your hair washed would be great. But it’s a really ugly part of me I don’t want to show you.”

You grabbed a towel, but the look you gave him was gentle and sweet. “It’s okay. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

By the time Bucky gathered the courage to expose himself to you, the water had shut off. He was by the door already with the handle in his hand. It was supposed to be a redemption arc for himself. Confidence was drained from his body yet he still twisted the handle, pushing the door open to reveal you wrapped in a towel as you stood in a fog of steam.

You turned to smile at him, but before you could greet him, he had you pushed against the wall, slipping his hand through your towel to run his fingertips against your slit. To his surprise, you were already a little wet. “Thinking about me in the shower, doll?” he asked.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulder to keep yourself up, using the other hand to clutch at the towel. “You should have known I would,” you huffed playfully. “I’m feeling good.”

The bruise around your eye and the cut on your lip said otherwise. It wasn’t something he could just look past and forget. Brock had put that there, had tried turning Bucky against you to manipulate you, and it made him angry. You didn’t like his slowing hand, so you threw a leg around his hip and rocked into him as much as you could, wanting desperately to chase the relief you practically dreamed about. Once you found out how beautiful sex could really be you wanted it as much as possible.

“Someone’s needy,” he growled, pushing two fingers inside of you. As you gasped and jerked your hips at the sudden surprise, he drank up your reaction. To him you were the prettiest thing alive. Every moan, every time you closed your eyes, every whisper, every time you pulled at his hair, he could feel his heart beating faster in his chest. “Oh, you’re already so open for me,” he murmured into your neck. “You love when I finger you, huh? You like the thought of me so focused on your pretty little pussy.”

“You’ve had me wrapped around your finger since day one,” you gasped, “no pun intended.”

He had to laugh at your little joke. “You remember the first night? When I fingered you on the couch, too excited to get you to the bedroom?”

You could only nod and whine as his fingers fingers pulled out, only to add a third one into the mix as they slammed into you. He knew exactly what to do to drive you insane. The way he watched you only made you melt away into nothing but pleasure. He truly was a dom, in which he took control of the entire situation. At times you felt bad for having to stick towards pretty basic, vanilla sex--there were times you fantasized about being choked and shoved forcefully into the mattress but you didn’t think your heart could handle that. James didn’t care at all. He was always a hopeless romantic anyways, and being softer while taking charge of the intimacy.

“I told you I could make you come twice,” he reminded, picking up the pace. He could feel your walls clenching around him already, and he wasn’t worried about making you come too fast; the look on your face as pleasure took over you was intoxicating in itself and he would have a field day with it. He was going to drink it all up. “But you said maybe three. So here’s the deal. You’re not allowed to leave this bathroom until I get three orgasms out of you. Understood?”

“Yes,” you moaned, bracing yourself against the wall and his shoulder. Just his tone itself was enough to arouse you. You were slick around his fingers, only growing worse with every thrust he gave. Your swollen clit ached for attention from him.

“You’re so wet for me,” he cooed. Fuck his hot breath on your shoulder was driving you insane. “Who owns this, babydoll?”

“You do,” you mewled, fighting the urge to arch your back and put distance between you.

“What was that?” he teased. When his fingers began to slow in pace, you gasped and clutched the back of his shirt.

“You do,” you said louder. “It’s all yours, daddy, please.”

Well, fuck. That was embarrassing. You hadn’t called him daddy at all in the past month and a half. Bucky couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled in his throat. He tucked himself back against your neck and picked up the pace once more. “Don’t worry, babydoll, I’ll take care of you.”

He finger-fucked you to the point you were clawing his back through his shirt, legs shaking with the intensity of the orgasm, shouting out until you could no longer stand on your own, at least decently. Luckily for you, he had other plans.

“One,” he said aloud, picking you up and setting you on the counter, untucking the towel from your breasts to let it fall at your side. “Two more to go, pretty girl.” He wasted no time kneeling before you, like a knight before a queen, about to swear himself loyal. No words were pushed from his lips, though; instead, he licked a swipe up your swollen slit and began to ruin you.

Buck’s oral skills were something that could never be matched. Under his touch you were spineless and weak, but in a good way. There was no fear here. Rather, it was all lust and good feelings. He opened you up with his tongue and made good use of those beautiful lips. Against your thighs you could feel his stubble, which hadn’t been trimmed for a few days, rub against the skin and leave a trail of lust. You slouched back against the mirror and draped your legs over his shoulders. “You’re so good,” you moaned, fighting all urges to rock your hips.

You came as he sucked against your clit. This time, he did not give you a grace period. Once he rode you down from your high, you were pulled to your feet, turned around, and bent over, your upper half made to rely on the support of your elbows against the counter. “That was two, baby girl,” he said, kissing his way up your spine. “You have one more. Are you gonna be a good girl and let me make you come again? Can I make you feel good?”

“Please,” you murmured.

The grip on your hips was nearly bruising, but fuck, in the best way. You pressed your cheek against the counter and moaned as he slipped into you. There was a moment where he stilled to grab a fist full of your wet hair. “Is this okay?”

“Just don’t pull too hard,” you breathed, a moan leaving your lips just at the feeling of his throbbing cock inside of you.

When he started moving, his metal hand wrapped around your hip and his flesh hand tangled in your hair, he went so slow. He didn’t pull your hair too hard. He rocked into you lovingly, like no matter how hard he tried to distinguish himself as a sugar daddy, he still let his heart take over and shower you in love and affection.

As soon as you came with a breathless, nearly silent shout, he pulled out and turned you around. You couldn’t protest before he left you leaning against the sink. He came over your chest and stomach in warm, white ribbons that melted against your skin and began to run down your body. He couldn’t help but to smile softly at you. “I know that wasn’t as good as your fantasy was before our double date, but I hope that was okay.”

And in that moment, you were so fucking in love with him. He even held you up as you caught your breath, and wiped your chest down with a rag to clean the mess he made. 

“Take a shower, dirty boy,” you breathed, straightening out and grabbing your towel from the floor. “I’ll meet you out there.”

After a quick shower, he found you towel drying your hair, dressed in the black jeans he loved so much, a black bralette, and his daisy shirt—it was hanging off your one shoulder and clearly showed the bralette, not fully buttoned until below your breasts. You shyly turned to him. “Is this okay?” you asked.

“Yes,” he answered, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking. “You look… great.”

You had covered the bruises and tied your hair up by the time he was ready. Then, it was off to dress shopping.

But now, back in the present, you looked up at James, admiring how chiseled his face was in this lighting. “Whatcha thinking about?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Just appreciating a good dance, that’s all.”

Dress shopping was hard. Every dress was at least a thousand dollars, some were over two, and the numbers sent knots to your stomach. How he could be so calm about spending money, you’d never know. He began simply to pull dresses off the rack, one by one, until you agreed or disagreed.

“I love the color red on you,” he admitted, “what about this one?” he held up a dress that looked a little too big for you, to be honest. Then again, it was hanging lifelessly on a hanger and would need alterations anyways.

You had tried on dresses until you grew irritated, each expensive hunk of fabric failing to wow you as it should have. Were you really that ugly? Sigh. No, you had to stop talking to yourself like that. Ugly? No. You just hadn’t found the right dress yet. Bucky didn’t look annoyed, which was a relief; rather than getting upset with your indecisiveness, he stood up, held up a finger, and left you in the fitting room in your bra and underwear. The next dress he had presented was perfect.

“You know,” you said as you danced, snapping him from his thoughts, “your mom was pretty excited to see us dance. I’m pretty sure she got a few pictures out of it.”

Bucky laughed, pulling back slowly to grasp your hand and twirl you as if you were a princess. You were to him, his very own princess. Perhaps a queen. “Maybe we’ll have to be one of those annoying couples and start scrapbooking.”

“I think the kids call that instagram, these days,” you joked. It was almost natural how you fell into his arms. Maybe you should have said something. The timing was right and everything was in place, but what would he want with you? You were just a poor college student with a moldy apartment, a lot of debt, and a cry-baby past. Fuck--again, you had to remind yourself, not to belittle your own problems. “Thank you for the dress,” you gushed again. “I love it. I might wear it forever.”

It looked beautiful on you, James couldn’t deny that. It was a gray, short-sleeved dress with a collar and a hi-lo hem. The from stopped just below your knees and as it cascaded back, it fell at your ankles. It glittered, with a rather natural-esque aesthetic, and while it didn’t accent the cleavage or have any transparent features, it looked very nice on you. And you loved it. It wasn’t every day that a man bought you a Paolo Sebastian dress out of the blue.

“You’re very welcome,” he said honestly, pressing his face back into your hair. It was a gesture that screamed romance, that allowed the two of you to come off as an actual couple, but it stung your heart. He wasn’t actually yours. “This dress was made for you and you alone,” he murmured, striking your heart once again.

Meeting Rebecca was a wonderful experience. She wore a beautiful floor-length gown with a blue tulle skirt, and around the waist, it looked as if it turned into flowers that climbed up her torso in a deep V, flaunting a bare chest save for her breasts. She had her hair twisted into an updo and accented her lips with a warm plum lipstick, more pink than purple, and she looked like a goddess. She approached you excitedly. “Y/N! It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m upset Bucky’s hidden you from us this long, but I can see why. You’re so beautiful I’m actually jealous.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, cheeks heating up shyly.

James exchanged pleasantries with Becca’s fiance, Gabriel, who held a glass of champagne in his hand.

Of course, before the dancing and the cocktails and the small kiss on the cheek Bucky gave you for good measure, there was his mother. Now, Ms. Barnes was not a force to be reckoned with. Though her hair was gray and her face had aged, she was not letting anything get in her way and keep her from standing as straight and confidently as she had when she was young. Her short hair was curled and neatly and pinned and her dress was very modest for her age, yet had its own creative spin to it. She did not hold herself as Rebecca or James did; this woman had not come from money, but rather, poverty. She worked very hard to ensure she had nice things for her family and kept them safe.

She approached you out of nowhere, as Bucky had left to fetch you a drink, and places a soft hand on your shoulder. “You can relax, darling,” she murmured. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

You met her gaze, uncertain, but she was nothing but warm and inviting. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The way you hold yourself,” she clarified. “You’re tense. And I know that posture. I was abused for the longest time, too.”

Your eyes grew wide. No one else was supposed to know. She brought you in closer to her and acted as if she was talking with you, catching up on old times, when really you know she was relating to you. “I’m sorry,” you said finally, “I’m just… Bucky’s the only one that knows. He had to help me deal with it.”

It made her happy every time you called him Bucky. A smile found its way across her face. “It’s quite alright,” she chuckled. “You’re just a mirror of who I used to be and it frightened me a bit. Are you hurt in any way?”

Well, if she already knew, you might as well have been honest with her. “There was an incident a few days ago,” you told her as you tried to straighten out your posture. “I’m fine, though. Bucky has been nothing but sweet through it all.”

“It’s a very rough subject for him,” his mother agreed. “He’s seen me at my worst and it hurt more than anything ever could--other than his arm, but I assume he’s told you all about that.” Without giving you a chance to interject, she continued. “It’s a shame he’s lost it protecting me. I think maybe his heart was just so full of love he wants to protect everyone. But you,” she said, smiling at you and cupping your face in a motherly way, “the way he looks at you is no match for any other love he has shown. Quite possibly, you’re his soulmate, Y/N, and I want to let you know that we’re here for you. James, of course, but myself and Rebecca included. There may only be three of us Barnes’ left, but we welcome you to the family and we’re here for you.”

You couldn’t help but to pull her into a hug. It didn’t matter how elegant of a party this was, you needed to hug this woman and show her how much you appreciated it. Deep down, guilt was eating you alive. The relationship was built off of financial need rather than actual love. What happened when he didn’t want you anymore? Or he found a new sugar baby? Would his mother make the same speech to the next one?

The night ended with another dance, dangerously close to Bucky, allowing him to spin you around the dance floor. You felt so loved; for that four minutes, you weren’t a sugar baby, but rather his girlfriend. In your mind you played out the fantasy--he would kiss you softly when ever he pleased, hold your hand in public, wrap his arms around your waist, and maybe even bring you flowers. He would get you a promise ring and tell you that no matter what, you were the apple of his eye. You were the first thing he wanted to see in the morning when he woke up and at night before he fell asleep. He dipped you gently, smiling softly. You couldn’t help but to smile back and lean up, pressing your lips against his.

It was very different from every other kiss you two have ever shared. It was softer, more intimate, and it left you almost dizzy.

It gave you something to tell Peggy.

You were outside on the balcony of your hotel room with James fast asleep in the bed. You still wore your dress, and over your shoulders, he had draped his suit jacket. The wind hit your face gently, like little kisses--it made your stomach knot, and not just from the wine. You were so in love with Bucky Barnes, and you had to tell Peggy. On the other end of your cell phone, which as pressed against your ear, Peggy was fuming. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she groaned, clearly aggravated.

“I didn’t think I would ever feel this way,” you told her. “Peggy, listen. I don’t know how, but his mom knew, and James didn’t tell her. She came up to me and she knew I had been through some shit. She was abused too.”

“Just because she guessed your secret doesn’t mean you can look at her like a stepmom,” she said bluntly. “You’re not thinking clearly. Get some sleep and I’ll pick you up for brunch tomorrow.”

“Actually…” Well, this wasn’t going to be good, and you knew her tone would only sharpen from here. “I have plans tomorrow morning. We’re going for brunch with Bucky’s mom and sister.”

Peggy didn’t like hearing any of this. If only you knew how hard she was crying on the end of the line, mascara running down her face, wondering what she could say to keep you back. Bucky was a decent guy, she knew that, but every moment you spent with him, the less she knew. Were you okay? Was he slowly turning into Brock? “Y/N, you don’t know him.”

“He’s so sweet to me.”

“Just because he’s a decent human being doesn’t mean he’s in love with you.”

“I didn’t say he loved me back,” you sighed. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes I wake up beside him and just watch him. Like, this guy actually treats me nicely. And he doesn’t hit me. He spoils me and--”

Peggy interrupted you with a sharp voice, “He’s a fucking sugar daddy! That’s what he’s supposed to be like. He fucks you, he pays you, and you’re not his girlfriend. He’s not going to buy you a ring, he’s not going to propose! Stop thinking that he’s some kind of amazing person just because he doesn’t hurt you.”

You were quiet. Out of all the things Peggy had ever said to you, this was the worst. She never raised her voice like this at you. Never had she belittled you and made you feel so meaningless. Surely James had to feel the same way you did. The kiss you shared tonight was beautiful, it was amazing--there was a spark. The way he looked at you was pure love. He wasn’t undressing you with his eyes or lusting. “Why can’t you just be happy for me, Peg?” you asked softly, fighting your own tears. “I...I’m finally happy and you seem angry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I didn’t mean to sound like that. I’m happy that you’re happy, yes, but I can’t lose you again. I sent you out into the world with Brock and thought everything was okay, and then I had to hold you as you bled out and pretend I knew you were gonna live. I can’t take that chance with Bucky, I really can’t. He’s Steve’s friend but that doesn’t mean I can monitor your every move with him. I’m scared, Y/N. You’re like my sister, and if I lose you I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky, sound asleep in the bed with his party clothes still on. “Just… I’ll call you after brunch. Hopefully you calm down a bit.”

Peggy sniffled. “I’m so sorry, darling. Please just be safe.”

You hung up. While you could understood why she was being so aggressive and paranoid, it still stung like a bitch to hear her talk like that. James must’ve felt something. After the kiss, he posed for pictures with you, he made brunch plans with his family, it wasn’t like he brushed it off and went back to faking it. His hand rested at the back of your back as the party began to fade out, and finally, as he walked you to the apartment room, he gave you his jacket. Maybe you were more than a useless, paid servant. You weren’t just a fuck toy.

With a sigh you stood from your chair and went back into the room. His jacket fell from your shoulders as you kicked off your shoes and eagerly climbed into bed like a madwoman. It was just so natural to curl around him and find your place. His metal arm slid around your waist protectively. Maybe, you decided, this was where you were meant to be. Maybe you were his. And he was yours.

“Go to sleep, doll,” he mumbled before settling down once more. It wasn’t long before you joined him in dreamland, in a place where you were officially his, and not just a sugar baby.

You were truly in his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

Waking up next to someone you love was beautiful. It’s a slow process that reminds your waking up isn’t horrible. You sighed happily and blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the breathtaking sight of Bucky doing the same. He gave you a soft smile and greeted you with a groggy voice that made your heart skip a beat.

“Good morning,” you echoed.

The morning was spent showering and waking up fully, trying to comprehend the day when your mind was still as mushy as it was last night. All you could remember was being so close and clingy to Bucky, so naturally romantic with him. He fetched you drinks and guided you with his hand at the base of your back. Then of course, the way he danced with you at every moment he got, then dipped you in front of all his family, guests, and friends. Becca’s moment felt like yours. Instead of wondering just how much he could ever possibly love you, you wished you knew already.

A firm knock at the door interrupted you. “Y/N? I still gotta shower before we go, doll.”

You’d just been standing under the warm water, finished, lost in a day dream. Turning the water off you yelled out, “Sorry, Buck. I’ll be out in a second.”

Bucky showered after you did, hiding his arm, so after brushing your teeth you used that time to change into a pair of jeans, a button down blouse, and completed it with a gray blazer. Bucky wore dark jeans, a collared shirt and a sweater over top; business casual was a new brunch look, you were guessing. You both looked cute as hell, and you wanted to kiss him. But how? Why? Your arm hooked through his as you left the hotel room for brunch.

“You okay?” he asked, jerking you from your thoughts.

“Yes,” you answered, trying not to cling too much to him. “I’m great.”

“Bucky! Y/N!” Ms. Barnes happily stood from her seat to pull you into a hug. “I’m so glad we got together this morning. I’m happy to see you! I didn’t really get to know you last night at the party. Sweetheart, you’re practically glowing.”

Just as James had promised, his mother had hinted easily at a thoughts of marriage. He had warned you on the walk to the lovely little place. The five of you grabbed a seat outside underneath a small umbrella at a decent sized table, but that didn’t stop you from leaning into Bucky a bit more. That was when it broke loose.

After the questions about school and how the two of you had met, everything turned towards the idea of the relationship itself. “You know,” Rebecca said, crossing her ankles, “I’d love to design your wedding dress.”

“Becca,” Bucky warned.

She raised her hand in defense. “C’mon, Bucky. We’re excited as hell. You’re always too busy with your work to ever take time for yourself. You have a beautiful woman on your arm and we’re celebrating that.”

Even Gabriel agreed. “Becca’s right. You stress a lot over work. I think it’s nice you have something other than files on files on files to go home to.”

“I know you’re worried about your arm,” his mother said out of nowhere, causing him to freeze beside you, “but she obviously loves you.”

Bucky winced. “It’s not the arm,” he lied, voice mumbling, but everyone saw right through it. Including you.

His mother continued. “Maybe waiting for the right person was the best choice after all. That arm does not define you, Bucky. You don’t always have to hide from us or the ones you love.”

“Mom,” he mumbled, unsure how to react near you.

Becca continued, clearly not able to stop any time soon. “Look, if she’s here after five months of seeing your arm, I don’t think she despises it.”

You wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure what or even how. Ms. Barnes continued on: “And I think that should be celebrated! You two are so cute together, this is all I ever could have hoped for you.”

“Recovery isn’t linear,” Gabriel chimed in. “You’re doing very well.”

You slipped your arm around his waist just to grab him and pull him closer, perhaps to keep the conversation away and close it for good. “He is. I think a round of mimosas would be great. Oh!” you exclaimed, acting shocked as you pretended to remember something, “Momma Barnes, did I show you my Pinterest board? I was already looking at rings and…”

As much as Bucky appreciated you break up the conversation, he was drawn into your little ring rant. His eyes remained on you as you pulled out your phone and began to flip through dream rings. Becca joined in, of course, and after a few rings and some wedding dress talk, the family had settled and no more talk about his arm or past was done.

Until you both made your way back to the hotel room.

“I was in an accident six years ago,” he said suddenly, breaking you from your thoughts. You turned to answer him, but as you did, you saw him throwing his sweater to the ground and make quick work of unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath. Before he could shrug the shirt off and expose his vulnerability to you, he hesitated, hands faltering. “I… I want to show you. If you’ll see it.”

“Of course,” you urged softly. You sat on the bed and pat the spot beside you as an invitation. Before he joined you, he let his shirt fall off his shoulders and exposed his metal arm. The part where it met his shoulder was scarred and red, puffy as if he’d been clawing at it. The entire arm itself was metal. It was a sleek silver color, plain but obviously not flesh.

“My dad used to beat on my mom,” he said as he let himself sink into the mattress beside you. “It was me, mom, Becca… the bastard claimed to be a family man… and Abigail.”

“Abigail?” you asked quietly, encouraging him to continue but not sure if you should speak.

He nodded. “Becca had a twin. Her name was Abigail Barnes. We called her Abbie and she was blind in one eye because dad hit her too hard.” The information was odd and not chronological, but you weren’t going to force him. This was huge for him, a big step that his family already assumed you knew.

“I would have loved to meet her,” you whispered. “Was she beautiful like Becca?”

“Just as beautiful,” he told you. “She was practically identical except her nose looked different and her hair was lighter.” Something cold bumped your hand. You saw him shakily reach out to you; this was too harsh for him, too much for his soul, and you gladly took his hand. His quiet cries were the only thing audible in the room—your heart broke for him, for the beautiful man that seeped in your arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried. “I want to tell you. I want you to know I just… I’ve never actually told anyone.”

“Take your time,” you urged. “We have all day. We have all the time in the world, Bucky. Just breathe, I’m here with you.” 

Somehow, you both ended up lying in bed, Bucky between your legs with his head on your chest. His arm wasn’t in an easy line of sight, which should have made him feel a little less paranoid, and his tears had slowed significantly. He’d told you of how the abuse had started, how his mother tried to keep all of them safe, yet not everything could be avoided in life. You learned that Bucky had the weight of the world on his shoulder. Steve, his friend all throughout secondary school, had helped him mask his bruises and find a way to keep his sisters safe. Even if it meant sneaking the two girls out of the house and covering for them as they slept at his friend’s house—even if it meant taking a beating to insure that they didn’t. It broke your heart to hear how determined he was.

His mother was beaten to the point it left her bed ridden more often than not. Becca could steer clear of her father’s swinging fists but Abigail was a mini Bucky, desperate to protect. She didn’t let her blindness stop her. Of course, it got so bad she was probably losing some of her hearing in the ear in the same side, too, but as long as she could keep her mother safe, maybe Bucky too, the. It would have been worth it.

Alas, Bucky arrived to the story of how he lost his arm. Calm just minutes before, he was a wreck. There was so much to talk about but he trembled against your chest, clinging to you for dear life as if his words were going to ruin him all over again.

“He was cutting wood,” he said so softly you thought at first he had missed it. “He wore his dirty jeans, those steel toed boots that we were all afraid of, and an ugly flannel that he wore only for wood cutting. Our house was old and still ran off of a wood burner. It smelled like smoke all the time but at least we were warm.”

You waited for him to continue.

“My mother had burnt dinner. I remember what she was making, too.” He took another shaky breath. “She made this casserole thing? Tuna noodle? It never looked like a casserole, and it was always ugly, but it tasted so damn good. She had the burner up too high and it ended up setting off the smoke alarm.”

“I was back from college. I should have been watching the stove, but Becca was trying to type up a resume and gain sponsorship for her clothing line and Abbie was so close to graduating early that she was writing a paper.” He sighed. “I should have watched the stove. Mom tried to shut off the alarm but he’d already heard it. He was so pissed. He walked into the house still holding the axe he as using.” James, with his cheek against your chest, drew a shaky breath. “I told him to calm down because he was screaming. The last time he was yelling like that the neighbors called the cops and he wasn’t happy about that. Who was I to tell him to calm down? Who was I to tell him to lower his voice?”

You held him closer. This was too much to handle; his emotions were completely bared in that moment, his heart out for everyone to see.

James wasted no more time. “I don’t know why I thought he was above killing me. I thought, hey, he’s my dad, he wouldn’t dare kill me. But he was so angry he swung that axe at me and it went straight through my arm. I thought I was going to die. I saw my left arm lying on the floor and blood just following after it and all I could do was look at my sisters and mother and tell them to get out of the house. Rebecca ran to pull my mom out of the house through the back door. She screamed for Abigail, but Abigail’s reaction was to fight my father. This girl, as short as Becca and as skinny as my mother, charged at our deadbeat father and fought to rip the axe out of his hands. It lasted long enough for my mom and Becca to get to the neighbor’s house and call the cops, but it didn’t end it victory for Abbie. All I could do was lose blood and watch as he swung the axe at her and…. he just fucking….. she was….”

“It’s okay,” you murmured into his hair. “It’s alright, Bucky. I understand.” Maybe if you could hold him close enough, all of the pain would go away. There would be no more sadness, no more trauma, and he would maybe come to terms with the horrible thing that had happened. Maybe, just maybe, he could tell the story without crying or hating himself. You were clinging to him with all your might but it wasn’t good enough to settle his nerves.

“I lost my sister and my arm in a matter of seconds,” he croaked. “They were both lying on the floor. My father looked at me, like he was contemplating killing me, too, but something changed. Maybe he knew I’d suffer more if I lived. He knew I’d suffer if I failed at the one thing I was supposed to do. I was supposed to protect them, Y/N. My mom, my sisters… sometimes I wish I could have traded my life for hers.”

“Don’t say that,” you scolded quietly, as gently as your voice could allow. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry about Abigail, but your life means just as much.”

James drew a weak breath. He was glad he didn’t have to face you, to look at you and tell you his shame. “I took one look at you three days ago and I felt like I was looking at Abigail all over again. You’re a constant in my life. I can’t have another constant ripped away from me. Even if I had to lose my other arm… Y/N, I’m not losing you like I lost her.”

This wasn’t about you. This was about him. It warmed your heart that he thought of you as highly as he did, but how could you be on his mind at a time like this? He was weeping, for God’s sake, how was he just so calm? Before you could answer, he turned his head as if burying it in your chest. “That’s why I got the restraining order. I pulled all the strings I could to keep you out of court, I asked Steve to deliver the papers to Brock, and I did everything I could to make sure you wouldn’t have to think about him anymore.”

Tears sprang to your own eyes, but they were happy tears. No one had ever cared for you that much. You fought them off and wrapped your arms tighter around him, holding him as close as you could, but not nearly as close as you wanted.

“What about Steve?” you asked. “Did he help you recover?”

“He did. He’s the one that designed the arm. He double majored in arts and engineering, and he’s working alongside his friend Howard Stark doing god knows what. He and Peggy are actually Tony’s godparents. It’s pretty funny to think about. Imagine Steve Rogers chasing after a teenager.” He was deflecting, of course, for the worst part of the story. His arm was beautiful in some ways, but then again, Howard Stark had been involved, and life was getting messy.

Your hands stilled in his hair. “You don’t need to tell me all in one day, Bucky. Don’t overwhelm yourself.”

“I want to tell you,” he gasped, fighting his tears, “but it hurts. I’m afraid you’re going to put the pieces together and leave me.”

“I won’t leave you,” you assured him.

He sat up, and you followed suit. “They put the arm on. I nearly died, it was painful, I never thought it would work, but at that point in my life, I’d rather fucking die than be just a shadow of what I should have been. I clawed at it for days. It hurt so bad, it was attached to every nerve and it worked like a normal arm, except it wasn’t. I was just a freak with a metal arm.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you interrupted. “I really am. You’re so amazing, Bucky.” You crawled closer to him on the bed and settled to sit beside him, though he didn’t look directly at you. “You saved your mother’s life. You saved your sister’s life. And I know you were worried the other day, but you even saved my life. This arm doesn’t define you, and it isn’t ugly. It has a meaning, a story, and it shows how you survived and grew stronger despite someone setting you back.”

His shoulders hanged forward in defeat. “They were so excited to meet you. They thought I had finally forgiven myself and started dating.” He finally looked at you, alas, with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat. “I don’t think I could ever find someone that loved me and could bear to look at this hunk of metal.”

“Don’t say that,” you urged. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah, because self loathing and a metal arm is really gonna being in the ladies.”

“You don’t know that.” You reached for his hand but chose against it. This was like ripping off a bandaid. “This arm doesn’t define you. And if some people are gonna act like assholes about it, then they weren’t nice people to begin with.”

“It’s hopeless, Y/N,” he mumbled. “But that’s my own fault. It wouldn’t be as bad if I still had Abigail. Now I’m just a freak with baggage.”

“That’s not true,” you repeated.

“Who the fuck could ever love me like I am?” he demanded. “I don’t think I’d be a person if Peggy hadn’t introduced us. And even though you’re paid, you’re the closest thing I will ever get to a girlfriend. I shouldn’t even be dumping this on you. Why would you care?”

“Because I love you,” you blurred out of nowhere. You clasped your hand around your mouth, unable to believe you actually just fucking said that. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes. With three stupid words, you’d just ruined the best arrangement you’d ever had. He even pointed it out himself: you were paid. There was no love here, no actual relationship. 

He stared at you for days. Weeks. What do you mean it was only a few seconds? Time seemed to mean nothing since the last word left your mouth. The moments of bliss were gone. Bites of ham and cheddar omelette weren’t as beautiful as they were before, and the taste of the buttery croissant in your tongue had turned bitter and frightening. Only hours before you were greeted by his mother, pulled into a comforting hug, and left to believe she could have been your mother in law. But now you had nothing. You stifled a sob of fear as you rose from the bed and grabbed your phone from the dresser on the way out.

“Y/N!” he called suddenly, but the door had closed behind you as you made your way down the hall barefoot.

The sinking feeling in your chest was worse than any scar Brock had given you. Tears fell from your eyes—just the look he gave you when you let it slip haunted you. It replayed in your mind over and over. Nothing could go back to how it was before. He would fire you, you’d be poor, you’d have to move back into your shitty apartment, and you’d never see Bucky again. There would be no waking up next to such a sweet man. No more kisses and no more sex--no more cuddles and dinners and clean bathrooms. You’d be back to a moldy bathroom and outdated apartment, left all by your lonesome after classes.

A metal hand grabbed yours and spun you around. Bucky stood there, tears in his eyes, barefoot just as you were, with only a room key in his hand. You fought against his grip. “Let me go,” you begged, shaking with the beginnings of an anxiety attack. “Please don’t touch me.”

He immediately let go, but continued to follow you as you turned back around. “Doll, stop. Just listen to me.”

“I can’t,” you cried. “Please just leave me alone.”

“Doll I’m not letting you just walk away from me,” he said. “What you said—“

“I’m sorry!” You tried not to double over in anxiety. Maybe he knew, because he slowed his pace and tried to reach out for you again. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, shaking.

“It’s okay,” he urged softly.

“I just—“

“I love you, too,” he said confidently. “I just never believed that someone as breathtaking as you are could ever love someone like me. You shocked me. But I love you, so fucking much.”

Those words sat heavy on your shoulders in a good way, squishing you with love. For a moment you almost believed him. Maybe you really wanted to. “Don’t make fun of me,” you croaked, voice breaking. “I know what I said was stupid, but you don’t have to do this to me. I’m sorry, okay?”

But then he cupped your face and used his thumbs to swipe away any tears, and fuck, you believed him. You held his wrists captive. He peered down at you with so much love in his eyes and heart that it made you want to cry harder. “I’d never,” he murmured. “Y/N, I love you so much it hurts.”

“Don’t lie,” you whispered, too weak to turn around and pull away from him.

“I’m not,” he promised. “I love you. I’ll say it forever if you’d like. I love you. I love you, fuck, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

You both had tears streaming down your face as you kissed one another. It was awkward and rushed at first, a clash of teeth, but your body soon recovered from the shock and you allowed yourself to melt into him. Out of all the times you had kissed him, this was the best. It resonated with you. And you felt so loved. You pulled away from him slightly just to see him smile.

“I love you,” he repeated.

You sniffled but managed to smile back at him. “I love you, too.”

Everything was perfect. Somehow, by some grace of God, you found love. Everyone’s love was usually like a fairytale or a weird Hallmark movie that involved some crazy plot and a sappy love story. Once upon a time you thought you had to settle for Brock. You thought he would empty his wallet for you and eventually learn to love you, but he dangled that over your head, and you were beaten down for far too long. But now, Bucky stood before you. There was nothing but love in his eyes and it was all for you.

“Bucky?” you asked quietly just as he let his forehead rest against yours.

“Hmm?”

“Could you say it again?”

“Y/N,” he murmured in a voice that left you feeling like jelly, “I love you.”

And that was enough to make you cry harder--in a good way. You laughed through the tears and clutched him close.

“I love you,” he said again. “I love you--hey! I love you! And I want everyone to know! I’ll tell the whole world if you’d ask.”

“Just tell me,” you giggled. “That would be enough.”

So finally, one last time, he smiled at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, and said, “I love you.” And it was perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm uploading a Steve/reader story next, it's completed, be on the lookout for it ;)

Things were different ever since that little kiss. You and Bucky were inseparable, attached at the hip and head over heels in love with each other. You acted like a normal couple, but when it came to money, you never had to worry. He provided for you and it was never spoken of until you needed something; but even then, it was easily handled, because you two shopped together.

Not having a car was a little difficult, but there hadn’t been time in your schedule to actually get one. This meant you had to wake up a little earlier so he could take you to school. He dropped you off in front of the library and smiled as you crossed to the sidewalk. “Be safe!” he called after you. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” you assured. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

You didn’t see Brock again. True to Bucky’s word, the entire restraining order was taken care of. The bruises on your face were healing nicely as well. The makeup wasn’t needed as heavily as before, which was nice. As if they were still there, Bucky stilled cupped your face when he pulled you in close to inspect your face; happy, when he saw no new wounds or anything worrisome, he grinned all sappy-like and gently pressed his lips to yours.

You officially moved out of his apartment and into his house, but the biggest change was where you stayed. Your bedroom was now the guest room—again. There was no need for it when you curled up against him every night in his huge bed, on your own side, the one that was claimed only months prior. His closet was half yours. Your toiletries were taking space up in his bathroom, too, and that was what really marked it. Waking up and seeing your toothbrush next to his, or your shampoo in his shower, it was humbling. It was real. You two were, well, together.

It showed in the smallest of ways. You wore his t-shirts, and he let you. Every morning he woke up, turned off his alarm, and kissed your head. Then he warmed up the shower for the both of you, and got a head start on washing. You joined after a stretch and maybe, if you were lucky enough, he would indulge your admiration for slow, sleepy morning sex. However, it wasn’t always him that initiated the shower. The weekends were sometimes different.

Bucky walked into the bathroom half way through your shower, but you were too lost in thought to hear his feet against the floor. All worries of his arm was gone, as if it didn’t matter in the first place. Love clouded his mind. The scars and puffy pink skin didn’t matter anymore, and maybe they never would, at least not to this degree. He was too happy as he discarded all of his clothing to the floor; his shirt barely made a sound though his belt could be heard over the soothing cascade of water. You were too close to the water to hear him undress, though. Once he was completely bare, save for the black hair tie around his wrist, he opened the door and let himself in.

You turned happily at the sight of him, a smile stretching over your face as you reached for him. It was beautiful. Your wet skin moved softly against his dry hand, moving towards his wrist and slowly up his arm until hooking around his elbow, giving you enough to hang onto, allowing you to pull him close to you. The intimacy was floored through the roof at the contact--his blood was boiling under his skin, too excited to be this close to you.

“I want,” you started quietly, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the shower head, “to show you how much you mean to me.” A soft kiss was placed at the base of his throat. “I want to explore your body like you did mine,” you breathed, licking your way back up to his jaw. “Every inch of skin, ever freckle you have, every little hair, every fucking dimple. I want to kiss you. I want to make you feel so fucking good.”

“Just looking at you does the job,” he groaned under his breath. He had to admit, you were very intoxicating. You kissed down his collarbone and found yourself sucking lazily against his pecs, lapping at a nipple before pulling back and taking his metal hand. Slowly, while looking at him through your wet eyelashes, you took his first two fingers in your mouth and gently sucked. The sight of you with your lips up to his knuckles made him let out a sigh. 

You didn’t respond. He watched as you lowered yourself to your knees and settled back on your heels. The water was just about hitting the back of your head as you made yourself comfortable. It almost didn’t matter, though. Just him, just his bare body, something he was so ashamed of, was enough to consume your mind. You were given the honor of seeing him, all his insecurities, and it was beautiful. “I love you,” you said before taking him into your mouth.

“I--fuck, doll, that’s not fair.” He was holding himself back, you could tell. His hips jerked ever so slightly as you bobbed your head along his length. Ideally, you could do this forever. The heavy weight of him on your tongue was enough of a reward. Hollowing your cheeks earned another moan from him, and you felt as if you could go on forever.

As much as teasing him was fun, you pulled off with a delicious pop and looked up at him. “Oh,” you sighed happily, “look at you. So hard just for me.” Leaning forward you pressed a kiss against his thigh before nuzzling it open ever so slightly, giving you leverage. “All of you. It’s mine. I still can’t believe it.” You press another kiss to his thigh, then the underside of his dick, and you take the opportunity to lick a stripe from the base to tip. “So beautiful. Can I make you cum for me? Can I make you feel good?”

“Please,” he moaned, failing to hold himself back. He thrusted into your mouth and grabbed your hair, a tight grip that slightly tugged against your scalp. It was hot to see him lose control like that. At the back of your throat you could feel the smooth tip of his cock, salty and leaking, forceful in nature yet somehow so loving. Lust took over you until he pulled out abruptly and held your face, looking down worriedly. “Y/N! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry, babydoll, fuck, I know not to be rough with you.”

You gasped at the loss of weight on your tongue. “I’m okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whined, trying to pull you up. “We’re done. I don’t want to hurt you--”

You resisted him and remained planted on your knees. “No,” you rasped, “I trust you. Face-fuck me.”

“I… I don’t think you’d like that.”

“I want you to use me,” you told him. “Because I know it’s not using. At the end of the day, you’re not my sugar daddy. You’re my Bucky. And I trust you.”

Hesitantly, slowly and almost scared, Bucky grabbed your hair to control you but to also keep it from your face. You looked at him once again through your eyelashes, innocently sticking out your tongue and opening wide to allow him access. Love was present. It wasn’t just a senseless fuck that left you cold--Bucky inched himself into your mouth and bit back a moan.

“Fuck,” he huffed, “love that wet little mouth, darling.” He thrusted, continuing until you gagged, and pulled out quickly. “You done? You want more?”

“More,” you gasped, “please, daddy.”

He shoved himself in your mouth before pulling out once more. “You like daddy’s cock, don’t ya? Wanna gag all over it?”

“Please,” you mewled, chest heaving. “Fuck my mouth. I’ll be a good girl for daddy.”

He fucked your mouth with force until he came--his cock stayed put until you swallowed it all and gagged again. You felt proud of yourself, though. You were able to do something out of your comfort zone because you trusted him, and it proved to be a smart choice. His cock slipped out of your mouth. Once he came down from his high he picked you up with gentle hands.

“Did I do good?” you asked softly.

He nodded and pulled you close to his chest. Soothing. Your head rested against his shoulder as he held you against him, stroking your back. The water drummed gently on your skin. James’ breath slowed to match yours. “You did wonderful,” he murmured. “I love you.”

You smiled sleepily. “I love you, too.”

As the conditioner sat in your hair, he kneeled before you, hoisted a leg over your shoulder, and ate you out like the queen he saw you as.

Bucky was the king of romance, you thought. Sometimes he surprised you with flowers and peppered kisses along your shoulder just because. Once he took you out to an aquarium just to point out the fish and your favorite sharks, and he held your hand like a shy boy the entire time. It was sweet. He truly savored every moment with you. When you two weren’t at work or class, and you didn’t have a date planned, you were relaxing at home and simply enjoying the other. 

Bucky’s fingers trailed along the inside of your thigh slowly, almost idley. He wasn’t exactly paying attention to you fully. It was casual. He read over a file on his laptop, lying in bed, and you were right beside him curled into his chest, scrolling on your phone, with his arm around you. You were curled up with your legs sprawled out, which allowed him access to the inside of your legs. There wasn’t a rush to dive in, not like he was paying attention, but it was just the thought of being close and intimate even though he had to work.

You hummed, content, against his shirt. “Hey. I had a question.”

“Hey,” he teased, “I have an answer.”

You were so comfortable that it didn’t embarrass you to be so blunt. “Am I your girlfriend? Like, for real now?”

Bucky closed his laptop before reaching into his nightstand drawer. His fingers stopped against your thigh as he did so, the loss of the sensation sent a shiver down to your toes. “Oh. I hope so,” he said, “or this could be pretty embarrassing.” He pulled out a small container from the drawer and handed it to you—it was just a roll of film for an old disposable camera.

“Film?” you asked curiously. “What does it mean? Is this an inside joke I forgot?”

“Maybe you should open it and see.”

You did as you were told and opened the little plastic tube. It wasn’t film. At the bottom sat a small little ring, silver and thin, topped with a very small and delicate sapphire. It was a deep blue, cloudy and dark, serving as enough proof that it wasn’t a fake or even stimulated. It was real, and that could have been a thousand dollars in itself.

You sat up quickly and shook the ring out of the container. “Bucky—“

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he said softly, looking up at you as he was still lying back. “Just a promise ring. It’s probably a little stupid but I just wanted to get you something, and Peggy just happened to know your ring size.”

Oh. Peggy. You hadn’t told him about the little argument you had with her. It was fine, really, you know she was just looking out for you, but it still stung that she didn’t see the happier side of things. Even worse—you hadn’t told her that you two were now together.

“You love me,” you murmured, thinking out loud before you could stop yourself. You slipped the ring on your finger all while admiring it, smiling shyly. It wasn’t a big secret, but it was something you were initially robbed of. Now it was here. No holding back. You were so full of love and hope and fuck--you wanted to lie in this bed with him forever.

Bucky laughed. “Uh, yeah. We’ve been over this, doll. Are you alright?”

Oh, you were more than alright. Nothing else mattered that very moment. You rolled to straddle him, your clothed cunt grinding ever so slightly over his crotch. “Fuck me,” you breathed, attaching your lips hungrily to his.

The slight movement had already stirred him, causing the beginnings of a tent to form in his pants. He allowed his hands to rest on your hips, as if holding you in place.

You kissed him like you meant it. The heat wasn’t pure lust and selfish desire as it usually was. This time, it was love. You pulled away ever so slightly and cupped his face. “This will be our first time as a couple,” you murmured, continuing with another kiss.

“The times in the shower—“

“Practice rounds,” you’d decided. Once more, your clothed sex grinded down on his awakening cock. The moan that spilled from his lips only turned you on further, causing the pool in your stomach to knot even more. He threw his head back to the pillows to watch your face, your concentration, with awe.

“I still can’t believe I get to do this with you,” he said. “Just me. It’s not just sex anymore. I get to love you.”

“You do,” you chuckled. “And you’re all mine. No one else gets to have you.” Before he could reply with his own sappy remark, you sat up, no longer leaning over to kiss him. You pulled your shirt over your head and, braless, allowed your breasts to bounce with your every movement. Bucky cupped them and kneaded them in his huge hands as you rolled your hips, thumbs dipping under the waistband of your panties.

“Fuck,” he hissed, watching your mouth open ever so slightly, in love with the feeling.

After oddly working his pants off, he positioned himself back against the bed, allowing you to straddle him once more. You held his cock in your hand and lined him up. “I want to be so good,” you whispered, gasping as his head slipped inside you. “Fuck. I want to be the best you’ve ever had. I want to be the only girl that ever mattered to you.”

You sank down until you were seated against him, rolling your hips against him to earn moans from him as well as yourself. His hands slid from your waist up to your arms—fingers quickly jumped to grasp yours, which you gladly took. With his elbows planted on the bed, he gave you more leverage, allowing you to put pressure on his hands. It was beautiful in its own way.

“Bucky,” you breathed, setting a steady pace. “James—“

“I get so see every angle of you,” he rasped, face twisting in pleasure. “And no one else. I’m the luckiest man alive. I love you, Y/N. I love your face, your perfect lips, those breasts, your soft skin. You’re wonderful. Fuck. Look at you… all mine.”

It was beautiful, slow sex that left you feeling fuzzy and warm. You rocked your hips and let yor head fall back in pleasure, a moan spilling from your lips. For once, you came just as he did, tipped over the edge just as he came inside of you. Sweaty and smiling, you leaned in to kiss him. You wanted this moment to last forever. “I love you,” you murmured against his soft lips.

“I love you more,” he countered with a lazy grin. “My pretty girl. Let’s lay in bed all day.”

You fell against his chest as he pulled out of you, his warm seed dripping out after and making more of a mess. “Sounds good to me,” you sighed and let your eyes close in content. And boy, life was fucking amazing.

When Bucky did buy you a car, he went above and beyond. It was amazing you were able to talk him down to a more affordable car, so maybe letting him go crazy with the accessories was allowed. Your Nissan was over thirty-thousand dollars, with WiFi, GPS, all wheel drive, an emergency kit, fog lights, a wireless phone charger, and so much more that probably wasn’t necessary. On top of that, Bucky bought you a crow bar and slid it under your seat. “If anyone tries to attack you again,” he said as you ‘unwrapped’ your new car, “use this. They’ll be sorry.”

You smiled and leaned into him, smiling at the sleek black car. “I love it! Thank you, Bucky.”

He cupped your face. “I know I went overboard. But I also want you to be safe. If anything happened to you…”

Now was not the time for a heavy heart. “You’re too good to me,” you sighed happily.

“You deserve every bit of it. And more. I wanted to get it custom painted but I figured you’d kill me.”

You just laughed and wrapped your arms around him. “You’re too much. But I love you no matter what.”

“Yeah?” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and mimicked your very happy sigh. “I love you, too. “

Something wasn’t right. Of course it wasn’t. Things had been good for far too long and it wasn’t unusual for the world to be against you as soon as life had settled. But this difference was… well, it was weird. Your stomach felt unsettled and the urge to vomit was there, but you weren’t showing any signs of getting sick before this. And of all times to be getting sick—now? You were graduating in a month. You were so damn busy with your life that being sick only meant being slowed down.

You pushed yourself out of bed at a good time. As soon as you were on your feet your stomach lurched and you scrambled to the bathroom to vomit. Well, that was fucking horrible. It was one thing to feel sick but another to actually be sick. Anxiety flooded your veins as you replayed yesterday in your mind. Nothing out of the ordinary was eaten. 

“Doll?” Bucky groaned. “Are you okay? It’s Saturday why are you out of bed?”

This isn’t how you wanted him to see you. Everything was new and fresh, and he needed to be impressed. The anxiety bubbled up only to have you heave again, chest already sore. When you didn’t answer, he came to find you. “Oh, honey.” He grabbed your hair and kneeled beside you, rubbing your back with his free hand as he walked you through it. When you finished heaving, he pulled you up, gave you a glass of water, helped you brush your teeth and get back to bed. 

“Just rest,” he murmured against your forehead. “I’ll go out and get you some soup.”

“Stay,” you whined. “Cuddle me.”

“But you should get some soup.”

“Ask Peggy to bring some soup?”

Surprisingly, Bucky called. Even more surprisingly, Peggy brought some soup. For one moment you’d forgotten the argument you’d had a week or so before, when you no longer contacted her at least once a day to assure her you were fine. So when she appeared before you, walking in with her eyes shining with tears and her lip between her teeth, you could have cried, too. Peggy was always there for you. You missed her.

“Hello, darling,” she said quietly, smiling softly.

“Hi, Peggy.”

“I brought you some soup. It’s from the little bakery across the street from my office, the kind you said you really liked.”

You sat up in bed slowly. “Sit and eat it with me?”

Peggy sat beside you and wrapped her arms around you instantly. “I’ve missed you,” she blubbered, “but I know I was wrong. I’m so glad you’re happy. I just feared the worst and now—“

“And now you’re here, so I can tell you all about my new boyfriend,” you interrupted. “Because my sister should know all the gossip, shouldn’t she?”

And you both had talked as if you’d been apart for months. There was so much happening and when you finally finished your soup, you leaned against her shoulder only to continue talking. You told her everything about Bucky, about the kiss and the accidental confession, but it was okay. In the end, everything worked out all according to plan.

“Does your stomach feel better?” Peggy asked softly, still rubbing your back. “I can get you more if you’d like.”

“No more,” you told her. “I feel better. Just weird. I don’t know, I’ve never felt like this before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just feel… like this came out of nowhere. It’s up and down, it’s very wishy-washy.” It wasn’t horrible but it wasn’t the best thing in the world, either. Her hand clasped around yours before she spoke again.

“Maybe get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, let me know if you need anything.”

Of course, you threw up again the next morning, and Peggy brought more soup. The idea of eating it made your stomach feel worse, so you stuck with crackers. This continued for a while until one day you woke up without vomiting. It was great. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of, and Bucky was happy to curl around you in bed. Peggy stopped by again just incase. Despite your pleas to not bring soup, she had a bag in her hand.

“I’ll give you two some time,” Bucky mumbled. “We have to leave in an hour, doll. Try to be ready by then.” He kissed your forehead and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Peggy held out the bag out in front of her, like she was waiting to drop it. “C’mon,” she instructed. “Get up and take this.”

Inside of the bag was a pregnancy test. A stupid pink box with a pregnant woman on the side of it, and it left you cold. You dropped it as if you’d been burned. “No! There’s no way I’m pregnant.”

“You could be,” she reasoned. “You’ve been having sex. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Y/N, just take the test so we can figure it out.”

“I can’t be,” you said, feeling tears prick your eyes. Everything had just fallen into place; Bucky woke you up with kisses, he bought you a new car, and he loved to curl up against you on the couch and push work away. For once, you were dating someone. Not just a perfect boyfriend, but a genuinely nice human. Everything was too new and beautiful to throw a baby into the mix. “Peggy, please, I can’t be pregnant.”

Softly, she rested a hand on your shoulder and wiped your tears with her other. “Don’t cry, darling. It’s nothing to fear. Let’s take the test so we can at least rule it out, okay?”

The two of you had come to the agreement of peeing on the stick and then getting ready for the day. Peggy guarded the test, waiting on the counter, as you applied some makeup to a clean face. For once you felt so refreshed and better than before, it was almost effortless to look great. Bucky’s daisy shirt was stolen again, mostly out of admiration and fear that it might have been the last time, but you looked great. And that was all that mattered. If you looked cute, he could yell or hit you for being pregnant. Could he?

“You can wait and see it after classes,” Peggy suggested. “You don’t have to do this now.”

“I don’t think I could wait all day,” you sighed. “Peg…. is it ready?”

“Yes.”

“Is it good news?”

“Either answer is good news,” she said, grabbing the clean end and handing it over. “It’s okay, darling. Just breathe. And look at it.”

One look at the test left you breathless. Good thing your mascara was waterproof. Tears rolled down your face and you dropped the test, letting it clatter to the ground. The air stilled around you and robbed your lungs. Breathing was hard. Was this happening? Were you actually sing this right?

“It’s alright,” Peggy said as she caught you in her arms. “Let it out, darling. You’re going to be okay.”

You were also going to be a mom.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this three times but here it is. Sorry for the wait.
> 
> I'm having mental health issues so who knows whether the story will finish before I do lmao

You didn’t go to any classes. Rather, you kissed Bucky goodbye in your driveway and drove to Peggy’s house where she waited for you. She stood with Steve on their front porch, wrapped in a throw blanket and wearing joggers, obviously comfy and ready to lounge around with you, too. Steve came down and met you at your car, opening the door slowly as to not spook you. “Go to Peggy,” he said softly, “I’ll park the car.”

Stumbling out, you let your tears flow. Peggy met you on the stairs and took you into her arms immediately. “It’s okay,” she cooed, pressing her face into your hair. “Please don’t cry, darling, it’s alright.”

“I don’t want to lose him,” you cried. You’d remembered doing the same when Brock hit you for the first time. He’d broken your nose and Peggy was livid, about to take you away from him for good, but you cried. You sobbed and begged until she believed your excuse and then, of course, everything spiraled out of control.

Peggy pulled you inside. The mauve walls welcomed you, pictures greeting you. You staggered a bit but Peggy held your weight until she assisted you to sit in the chair at the table. “Let’s get you some tea,” she said gingerly. “We’ll get you calmed down, and then think of a plan.”

“For the first time in my life, I have a man that loves me,” you told her. “He kisses my nose every morning and then he does my hair. Do you know how amazing that is? To have a man literally touch me without sexual implications and genuinely like being around me without his dick being inside me?”

“I—“

“I moved out of my apartment.”

“Y/N!”

You brought your arm up to wipe your eyes. “I know. How stupid. But he gave me a room and I can breathe so much better without the mold. I’m… I’m so tired of living like nothing. But Bucky treats me like a human and I crave that attention.”

Steve made his way into the kitchen and set your keys down beside you. “Bucky loves you very much,” he reassured. “He had the restraining order drawn up in no time, worked against the minor laws and technicalities, and he made sure Brock couldn’t come near you at all. He loves you more than anything, and I’m sure he would love the idea of being a father.”

You kept the secret as long as you could. The morning sickness was getting out of hand and soon enough, you had a tiny little baby bump, but you hid it well with Bucky’s shirts and tried your hardest to make sure nothing came out. Peggy worried for you; she was afraid you would never tell him or wait until you’d ruined the relationship unwillingly, but you weren’t ready.

At night, Bucky snuggled up against you and sighed into your hair. “I really love you,” he murmured into the darkness of the room. “And I want you to know that.”

“I do know that,” you replied, eyelids growing heavy. “I love you, too.”

“Is there a reason the sex stopped?”

Fuck. You hadn’t realized. It had been three weeks without any sort of sex. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I--”

“I’m not saying we have to,” he said quickly. “I don’t care. I like being with you, not just the sex. But I got a little worried, I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a reason.”

“No reason,” you told him, and hugged him close. Minutes passed. Silence set in. You whispered, “I’m pregnant,” when you finally gathered the courage, but Bucky was fast asleep.

Graduating was something of a wet dream for you, and maybe for Bucky, too. You walked across the stage in your black cap and gown feeling like a million dollars--even despite the little secret growing inside of you. It’d been a month and only Peggy knew. Peggy, who comforted and supported you, who brought you anything you needed in order to keep your head above water. But did that matter now? Rebecca had done your makeup simply-- “you’re beautiful,” she had said, closing her makeup bag, “you only need very slight touch-ups. God, my brother really picked a goddess, lord, you’re so beautiful.” -- and tamed your hair. Gabe brought his camera and took professional photos, and Ms. Barnes watched happily as you grabbed your diploma and held it proudly.

Never in a million years had you imagined having a boyfriend, let alone a boyfriend’s family, to share an important moment with. Usually it was only Peggy beside you, and now, there was a mother figure to dab away tears and hug you proudly. After the ceremony Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and held you close. “I’m so proud of you,” he said with a smile. “I know how hard you worked for this. And now you have your masters.”

“I do,” you laughed, “and now all I have to do is find a job.”

“I’m sure I could find a place for you,” he mused, and despite his teasing demeanor, you saw a serious look in his eye. 

It was torn apart by Ms. Barnes, dressed in her Sunday best and looking more important than Julie Andrews, who clearly wanted to dottle over you as well. “Don’t hog the college graduate!” she demanded, prying her son away from you. She hugged you delicately and pulled back to adjust your cap. “We’re so proud of you, honey.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it.” She released you but didn’t step back too far, even as Gabriel and Becca joined the group. “You’ve managed to get a degree while also pulling Bucky out of his shell. You’re a wonderful young woman.”

“Stop,” you whined, “if I cry, Becca’s makeup skills will be wasted.”

“Barely any makeup,” Becca announced, probably for the second time. “She’s fucking flawless, Bucky. If you don’t put a ring on her finger I’m going to be upset.”

Blush rose into his cheeks, one of the prettiest sights you’ve ever seen. You still couldn’t believe he was really yours. Even after you were going to stir the pot and cause a scene. “He did give me a promise ring,” you said quietly, holding out your left hand. “It’s so pretty I don’t think I ever want him to replace it.”

Gabriel snapped a picture as Bucky’s sister and mother gasped over your ring. Rebecca looked at you with a sad expression. “Please let me design your wedding dress,” she begged. “I am too excited to pull you into this family. Please, please, please!”

“Don’t overwhelm her,” James muttered. His hand found yours. “I don’t want to rush her. Like I said, it hasn’t been too long yet. I just wanted to give her something nice without forcing her to commit.”

Ms. Barnes’ thumb ran over the smooth gem of the ring, her eyes fixated. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

You grabbed her hand just as she closed hers around yours. “Careful, momma Barnes,” you warned. “If you get emotional over this your son might never give me an engagement ring out of fear. Save the tears for when you help me pick out a dress, okay?”

That comment made her happy. Ms. Barnes was a woman that made you feel whole, and somehow, it made you want to tell them immediately that you were pregnant. Maybe it would have been met with happiness and tears--you wanted to go through baby pictures with her and have her pick out the most ridiculous onesies that said “I have the best grandma in the world!”

Did you want this baby? You didn’t know. All you knew for certain was that you wanted to keep Bucky--for the first time in five years, you were happy. Waking up next to him everyday was enough to soothe your anxieties and make you calm. Bliss. Having someone next to you was heaven. Even now, you could feel yourself grabbing his hand absentmindedly and wondering if you could keep him. What if Bucky didn’t want the child? Would he leave you? Would he let you…. Take care of the situation? Things wouldn’t return to normal after that, but fuck, you didn’t want to lose him.

“You alright, dear?” Ms. Barnes asked softly.

You nodded. “I’m just happy,” you said, and it wasn’t that big of a lie.

Dinner at a fancy restaurant was on the agenda.

“We’ll get a bottle of champagne,” Gabriel decided, his arm draped casually over the back of Rebecca’s chair. It was a domestic move that made you want to reach over to Bucky, just simple because you could. It was so relieving to have someone you could depend on, someone you could actually be all cutesy with and gross with in public. Bucky caught your gaze before you looked back down at your menu--he grabbed your hand under the table and gave it a small squeeze before resting his hand on your thigh. “To celebrate,” Gabriel clarified, looking around for approval.

“Maybe just a nice red wine,” Bucky countered, flipping through the menu. You noticed how he wasn’t into all the foods there. He really liked your cooking but didn’t want you to feel obligated since you weren’t an employee, but instead, a girlfriend. He looked over to you. “You love red wine. I think you prefer rosé, right?”

You laughed it off, but in the back of your mind, you panicked. You couldn’t drink while pregnant. Well, you could, but it wasn’t exactly recommended. “Ha-ha, mister. And yes, I really like rosé, but I’m not really in a drinking mood.”

Rebecca scoffed. “What? You just graduated, live a little!”

“Unless you’re getting your doctorates,” Ms. Barnes said, “you’re only doing this once. And we’re going to celebrate your hard work. Not only are we going to drink, but you’re going to order as many desserts as you want, and we’re going to be happy until it hits us.”

This wasn’t working the way you had hoped. “A bottle of wine on here is listed as one hundred dollars,” you pointed out. “That’s crazy.”

“Would you prefer a better one?” Bucky asked with a smile.

You slapped his shoulder playfully. “You know what I mean! If I drink the way you think I should you’d be forming over a grand for dinner.”

“Doesn’t sounds like a bad idea,” Gabriel mused. “Start with Champagne and work our way to the expensive wine. I love a summer red!”

“I’m not drinking,” you urged as gently as possible. “You guys can, though.”

That was met with a chorus of groans. “C’mon,” Rebecca whined. “Why not?

Ms. Barnes reached to pat your hand. “We don’t want to force you, dear, but keep in mind we don’t see you a lot. I’m sure we can afford it, as well. Pick out any bottle you want without looking at the price.”

“I shouldn’t,” you began softly. But you were cut off as the server brought dishes out for the table next to you. The smell of fish filled the air, mixed with oysters and clams, and something in your stomach lurched. You covered your mouth and jerked from your seat--this fucking baby inside of you was driving you crazy. Sure, some women probably saw pregnancy as a blessing, but right now, you were just trying to celebrate, and it was being interrupted. Rebecca shot up immediately and grabbed you by the arm to rush you to the restroom.

Bucky and his mother buzzed worriedly until you couldn’t hear them anymore. You shoved open the first stall Rebecca guided you towards and had no time to grab your hair before emptying your stomach. Luckily Rebecca caught it and pulled it back. The thought of sea food was enough to prolong your nausea.

“It’s okay,” Rebecca murmured, patting your back. “Let it out. It’s okay.”

When you were done, you grabbed a wad of toilet paper to wipe your mouth. “Goddammit,” you muttered. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” The back of your throat burned like crazy, and your nose tingled with the smell that put you here. Instead, you tried to focus on the soaps and perfumes by the sink. Florals, cedar and pine, citrus--all beautiful smells you tried so hard to keep in your nose.

“It’s okay.” She flushed the toilet with her foot and tied your hair back with minimal effort. “I can see if they have any paper cups so you can rinse your mouth out. I’m sure you’d probably want a mint or two after that as well.”

You nodded, but were too busy catching your breath to say anything. All you could do from there was lean into her shoulder until she got up to fetch you a cup. They were very accommodating, which was lovely, and apologized profusely before you could reassure them it wasn’t actually your own food, that it was just a smell that triggered it. Rebecca helped you up so you could lean against the sink, then sat with you until your mouth was clean—a waitress had some mouthwash in her purse she offered up—and you sucked on a mint.

“I didn’t know you had a severe seafood allergy,” she murmured, breaking the silence. “I’ll see about moving tables.”

Fuck. “No,” you said quickly. “I don’t. It was just…..” You didn’t know how to continue on with this. What would you say? Honestly she should have caught on by the way you didn’t want to drink and the smells affecting you. Defeated, you sighed. “Becca… can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” A deep breath. “Maybe ask you a few things first.”

“Are you okay?”

You nodded.

But Rebecca wasn’t so sure. “Is Bucky hurting you in any way?” she whispered.

“No!” you nearly yell, eyes wide. “God, No, Becca, he’s nothing but sweet to me. I just… oh my God, this is so hard to say.”

She fiddled with her thumbs and eyed you up and down. “Take your time,” she soothes despite seeming anxious for the news. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

The tears couldn’t be stopped. There you were, crying like a baby, your heart pounding so hard you thought it would break a rib. “Do you know if Bucky wants kids?” you asked as calmly as you could, but between the thought and your stomach still barely settled, it was hard.

Rebecca’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “I don’t know. I know when he was young he never wanted kids but I think he was so afraid of becoming our father. He never wanted to be like him. Now… I think he’d be fine. I don’t know, what are you—“ She stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re pregnant,” she whispered, hands covering her mouth.

You cried harder--someone other than Peggy knew and it was breaking your heart. There were so many what ifs, even if they were repeating over and over, that you couldn’t bring yourself to have faith in this situation. “I haven’t told him yet,” you wailed. “I’m so afraid he’ll break up with me. I don’t want a child support check, Becca, I’d rather have him than a child.”

“Breathe,” she soothed. “It’s okay. He’s not going to leave you over this.”

You leaned into her again and let yourself melt into a sisterly touch. “For the first time in three years I’m happy,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. “I’m so used to being alone and I’m so afraid I just messed things up.”

“Bucky helped make the baby, too,” she pointed out. “It’s not just yours. It’s his, too, and I don’t think he would ever leave you over this.” Slowly, she pulled back to look at you, her hand smoothing your hair back. “Let’s go out there and break the news. I don’t think anyone is going to be upset.”

“Not even you?”

She laughed. “Why would I be upset?”

“The baby thing is kinda stealing your spotlight.”

She laughed, and went to answer you, but the door opened to allow another person into the restroom. It wasn’t a big deal, as it was a public restroom and wasn’t barred off for the two of you, but Ms. Barnes made her way in, a worried expression plastered over her face. As soon as she saw you crying her face crumpled. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I can grab you some tums or anything if you need it.” She waited, and then added, “Bucky’s really worried about you.”

You wiped your eyes on a tissue and then your nose. “I’m okay,” you assured. “I just… the baby doesn’t like fish, I guess.” Ballsy. That’s what it was. In just one damn sentence you could have ruined your entire life. But maybe Becca was right--you didn’t have to hide, because you had a whole family out there rooting for you. So maybe this was the right choice.

“What do you m….?” Ms. Barnes froze in her spot, eyes wide. “Baby… are… Y/N, are you carrying my grandbaby?”

“If I say yes, you won’t be mad at me for it?”

She laughed, blinking away happy tears and stepping forward to place a hand over your still-flat stomach. “I’m… I’m going to be a grandma. I get to be a nonna.” She looked up at you accusingly. “Why haven’t the either of you told me?”

“Bucky doesn’t know,” Becca said quietly. “She’s afraid.”

“How long have you known?”

You sniffled. “A month. I haven’t even been to the doctor yet, I’m so scared of Bucky finding out.”

Ms. Barnes couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. “Why are you keeping it a secret?” she asked you. “What’s troubling you?”

Becca backed away. “I’ll go sit at the table, okay? Take your time. I’ll make sure we don’t order wine.” She left, leaving just you and Bucky’s mother to talk.

Where to begin? Everything troubled you. “I don’t want him to dump me over it,” you admitted. “I’d rather keep him forever than have a baby. But you and Becca are so happy and… I don’t know. I just want to be happy.”

“The only way you’ll ever be happy is with honesty,” she assured you. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Go out there and you tell that man you’re having his baby. He put that there. Don’t make it seem as if it’s your fault, okay?”

When all of you sat back out at the table again, Bucky grabbed your hand and stroked the back with his thumb. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah, the fish just really got to me.”

Gabe laughed, not bothering to look up from his menu. “My mother was like that when she was pregnant. Fish made her sick, eggs made her sick, and the thought of wine gave her a migraine.”

Well, the table quieted down thanks to Gabe. The fish comment paired with the previous distaste towards wine you showed made all heads turn to look everywhere but your face. Becca stomped on her fiance's foot and laughed to mask the sound. “What a weird coincidence. Could you imagine? Bucky as a father?”

Bucky scoffed. “I’d make a decent father, thank you very much.”

“Have you two talked about it?” Ms. Barnes pressed. As a family with an abusive head of household, they were all good at keeping secrets and masking their facial expressions. You hated to see them use their skills to pry into Bucky’s head for you. “I doubt Becca’s going to make me a grandmother.”

“No,” Bucky said quickly, “and I don’t want to.”

Ouch. You bit your lip and grabbed your cup of water.

“Jesus, Buck,” Becca hissed, “don’t make mom feel shitty for wanting a grandbaby.”

Bucky made a face. “The relationship is new, okay? It’s not like we’ve been together for seven years, and I’m not gonna scare Y/N off by talking about the future so soon. Sorry, ma, but you’re gonna have to wait a bit or something.”

“Y/N’s a big girl, she can handle it!” Becca passed you a bread roll to keep your hands busy and your mouth quiet. “C’mon, you can’t tell me you never thought about putting a baby in that cute little lady.”

“Stop it,” Bucky warned. “You’re going to make her uncomfortable.”

Ms. Barnes reached to pat your hand, then pointed a finger in her son’s direction. “Okay, fine. But answer me this: do you even want kids? Ever?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, unclenched it, and let out a sharp breath, though it was clear he was getting angry. “Yes! Yes, are you happy? I want to have a kid and be a better father than George ever was, okay? I want to put a stupid fucking ring on her finger and I want to have a baby that looks just like her, and I want to plan stupid family trips where we all have coordinating fucking outfits and I want to go to bed late at night because I was up late with the baby and I want the last thing I see before I fall asleep to be her fucking face, peaceful as fuck, on the pillow next to mine. Are you happy? Jesus fucking Christ.”

Angrily, he stood up and pushed his seat back, ready to storm away. You weren’t fast enough to catch his arm and keep him close. “Bucky!”

“He doesn’t like being angry in front of people,” Ms. Barnes said softly. “He’s going to isolate himself until he calms down.”

“I don’t want him to be mad,” you said, standing up. “I’m gonna go find him.”

“Do you want me to come with?” Becca offered.

You shook your head as you pushed the chair back in. “No. You guys stay here and order us a steak or something. I’ll be right back.” Weaving through the people, you struggled to keep up with Bucky’s pace. In just several long strides he was out the door and walking to the car.

“Bucky!”

“Go back inside,” he yelled without turning to look at you.

“I want to talk about it.”

“Not right now.”

You opened your mouth to say more but caught the toe of your shoe in the edge of the pavement and went tumbling down. The cement scraped your knees in white and pink lines. Tears swelled as a reaction to the pain--they didn’t matter as much as the pure white dress you wore. It was beautiful, possibly too nice for the graduation, but Bucky loved to spoil you. Without realizing, you had ignored the pain and the tears in favor of checking the dress for any tears or stains.

Bucky had turned and stopped to watch you. “Are you okay to get up?” he asked, voice breaking.

“Yeah. I’m okay, Buck.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to touch you while I’m upset. I…”

“You won’t hurt me.”

He looked away. “I can’t be anything like my father. I refuse.”

You pushed yourself up, hobbling, and decided that heels were such a bad idea. You looked great going across the stage, and your legs were cute, but to chase your boyfriend out of a five-star restaurant was a different setting. They came off with a wiggle of your feet and you picked them up to carry them as you made your way towards him.

“Please don’t come near me,” he begged, walking back until he bumped into his SUV. His hands were up in surrender. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t come near me.”

Fighting the tears wasn’t working as you’d hoped. “Bucky, we need to talk about this.”

“I’m not going to push you,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about anything you don’t. I’m not going to force you to be uncomfortable, and I’m not going to force you to be a mom, and I’m not going to force you to carry out my dreams. I just won’t.”

“That’s fine--”

“Can you please just--”

“Listen to me.”

“I don’t want to be another bad relationship.”

“Bucky, I’m pregnant.”

All the anger faded away into nothing. Blank faced, he watched you. The anxiety was growing at such a harsh level that it drove you insane. “Don’t play with me, doll,” he whispered suddenly, shaking his head. “That’s not funny.”

You shook your head, mimicking him. “No, I’m really pregnant. I was so terrified you wouldn’t want it and I know it’s soon and kind of terrible timing, but--”

“Please don’t play,” he whispered again.

“I was so afraid you were going to leave,” you admitted in a small voice. “I’d rather have you forever than to have a baby, if that’s what it would come down to. You make me so happy, I don’t think I could handle losing you. But if you’ll have me, and a baby, we’re here, Bucky.”

“You’re pregnant?” he asked, eyes swelling with tears. “You’re carrying my baby? I gave you a baby? We made that?”

You laughed through your own tears. “You’re going to be a dad.”

Bucky allowed you to walk towards him. Once you were close enough his hands lowered to rest at his side, still in fear of touching you, but you instead grabbed his metal hand to rest over your stomach. “Your baby’s in there,” you told him. “You don’t have to be afraid to touch me.”

“Our baby,” was all he said, slowly taking his arm away to wrap it around you and pull you close. His heart was racing in his chest, and nothing else was said until the both of you calmed down and returned to the restaurant.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I know, it's been a while. This chapter is a filler and a bit shorter, but it was a good stepping stone. Plus, they have a serious talk, so I think that's pretty important. Thanks for reading!

Bucky needed to do everything right. With the news that he was going to be a father, he wondered what to do when it came to everything. Every little thing was a guessing game, something to give him horrible anxiety, something to really fuck him up. Even now, as he watched you dry your hair after a shower, he wondered how he could balance everything. He had the money, he absolutely did, and that wasn’t a problem at all. His money bought your smiles, your happiness, your laughter, your safety, your basic needs, your sweet-tooth-pacifier, and the idle finger-brushing you did to your hair without noticing.

You weren’t with him because of the money. Bucky knew this. Bucky knew that you loved him for him, the happiness, the way he treated you and took care of you. After toying with your smooth hair, you packed up the things you were no longer using and stored them in their respective places. “Are you done staring at me?” you asked teasingly.

“Never,” he replied. 

You turned to look at him and as soon as his eyes met yours, he was melted. Tears swelled in the corner of his eye and he wondered how could he have ever gotten this lucky? He was sure he was doomed to live a life of pain and sadness, of empty and broken wonderings, of sad stares and mothers pulling their children away. He was by your side in three strides and he cupped your face delicately, easily, as if he was trying so hard to prove that he could.

“You’re not mad at me?” you asked again, your whisper tickling the side of his palm.

He kissed your nose, resting his forehead against yours rather than pulling away. Your scent was intoxicating, just like the shampoo you picked out. “I could never be,” he murmured. “Why would I be mad?” He began to sway, his metal hand slowly slipping down to grasp your waist, holding you close as he did so.

“We’ve only been dating a month.”

Bucky paused as he interlocked his flesh hand with yours. Oh. He hadn’t thought of that. He pulled back every so slightly to look you in the eyes, soft yet firm, struggling to show comfort and seriousness. “If it’s not right, you have a say in whether the pregnancy is kept or not.” When her eyes grew wide, he rushed to find more words. “I’m not saying I want that. I--fuck, doll, listen. I’m happy with you. You are everything I could ever want, and I don’t think I deserve to have the final say. It’s your body, your call. If you think it’s too soon, you call the shots.”

You continued to dance with him, just slow shifts of body weight and gentle turns on the floor. “Can I tell you a story? Without killing the mood?”

“Always,” he said instantly, letting go of your waist momentarily just to twirl you out, slow and probably very wrong in terms of actual dancing. When he pulled you back in his metal hand found it splace against the small of your back again. “You can tell me anything.”

The silence set in and you wondered what Bucky would do if you said something he didn’t like. You weren’t used to having control over yourself. “Peggy had a pregnancy scare once,” you told him quietly, shifting your gaze from his face to his shoulder. “We were texting about it, and of course, she was worried because she didn’t think Steve would want a baby around with him running his own firm. Nothing too harmless, but Brock would go through my phone every so often to make sure I wasn’t planning on leaving him or… you know.” Sucking in a deep breath, you rested your head against his chest. The soft pounding of his heartbeat was enough to ground you and keep you focused.

“He went through them,” he continued, “and found the messages between Peggy and I but he misunderstood and thought I said I was pregnant. At that point in our relationship, I didn’t know pain like that. What he did to me was worse than anything he did before,” you croak, not realizing you were crying until you felt the tip of your nose tickle with tears. “He gave me an ultimatum, saying he could either push me down the stairs or he would lock me in a closet with a wire hanger.”

Bucky pressed kisses in your hair and let out a breath, his grip on you readjusting, as if he didn’t want anyone to take you from him in this moment. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Y/N. I really am.”

The tears kept coming, but you kept dancing, because you knew you were safe. Here, in Bucky’s arms, you were absolutely safe. “He didn’t believe me when I denied it. He locked me in there for two hours, no phone, no water, nothing. Just an old towel and a wire hanger, and I was so terrified. He pushed the dresser against the door and wouldn’t let me out. He just kept yelling for me to handle it. Handle it, he yelled, you better fucking handle it.”

Bucky nuzzled into your hair and closed his eyes. “Did… did you?”

“No,” you murmured, smiling at the feeling of his lips against the top of your head. “I told him the truth, that I wasn’t pregnant, and I think after a while…. I think he wished I was pregnant. How else would he get me to stay? But I told him I didn’t want a kid and that if he put one in me, I’d leave. So in the end, he didn’t want to--he just wanted to keep me there as long as possible.”

“I want you to make the decision,” he told you, finally, as if he’d been walking on pins and needles the whole story. “I love you. Okay? And I am happy with you either way, but doll, this is going to affect your body, not mine. This is your health, not mine. And I want you to be happy, okay?”

“So if I told you I didn’t want it…?”

Bucky stopped his swaying for just one moment and dipped you, where your gazes finally met, and his pearly white smile made you break out in your own. “I would make the necessary appointments first thing in the morning.”

“But maybe… I don’t ever want kids,” you said, pushing it further.

He straightened back up and continued to dance with you, moving a bit more than before so you couldn’t rest your head on his chest and he couldn’t nuzzle into your hair anymore. “And that’s fine,” he told you. “We’ll get to that bridge later. I just want you healthy, okay?”

You grinned. “Bucky?”

“Yes, doll?”

“I want the baby,” you announced with confidence. “Only because it’s yours. Only because I’m not afraid of being with you.”

That was all it took for Bucky to break. He stopped spinning with you and when you met his eyes, he was crying with the biggest smile on his face. “I love you,” he croaked. His hands were pulled free from you just so he could cup your face again. “I don’t think you could ever know how much I love you. I love you so much, Y/N, and I’m honored that I make you as happy as you make me.”

After a lot of heated kisses and a few more tears, Bucky guided you back to the bed. One more spin, the final act to your beautiful dance you two shared, and you kissed your hand. You felt so… loved. So wanted. Instead of going to sleep scared or anxious, your body rested easily against the pillows, and before Bucky could even turn the light off, you were fast asleep.

Bucky, however, couldn’t sleep. As your breathing grew shallow, he sat next to you and stared at the wall, thinking of the look of fear on your face. For just a split second it was there, nearly consuming you, pulling you away from love and joy. Bucky knew it wasn’t your fault or even his. Getting out of an abusive relationship was one of the hardest things anyone could ever do. He still looked back at his time with his father reigning havoc on his family, on the people he loved before he knew how to walk or talk, and he feels fear. Misery. Emptiness. 

He watched Abigail on her last night. He remembers the tremendous pain in his shoulder and how he fell to his knees in a pool of his own blood, his fucking arm beside him. Bucky wanted to vomit. Abigail took one look at him and yelled, tears in her eyes from the horrible view reaching for him as quickly as she could.

One slice was all it took. George Barnes swung so fucking hard that Bucky blinked and his sister’s body was lying on the ground in front of him. Her head was by Bucky’s arm; it blinked twice and then just stared at him with drooping eyes, blue and teary, but so dead already it hurt.

Bucky sobbed. “Dad—please stop, dad, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He begged for his life. He was so young, so afraid, and when he woke up, he was lighter and in the hospital with his mother and Becca right beside him.

Abigail’s funeral was miserable. Bucky was miserable. 

He could remember the fear in his mother’s eyes when she got pregnant after the twins. Bucky was only ten but he was excited to be a big brother. His father hated the idea of another, and all that might, he heard his mother cry and beg for help, even through the closed door of his bedroom. In the morning she had a black eye and held her stomach as she walked, nearly doubled over in pain. The baby was gone.

But now Bucky looked over to you, the absolute light of his life. He loved you so fucking much, and loved the way you made him feel as if he was living on a cloud. Every kiss, every hug, every smile—everything was just so wonderful. Bucky rolled over to face you and rested a hand on your tummy. He was going to be a better dad than George ever was—and not just the bare minimum of good. He was going to do his absolute best.

His absolute best meant taking a day off, telling all his workers to go home for a paid day off, and then waking you up with breakfast in bed. Watching your face light up beneath him was truly something of a work of art. Groggily rolling over and shifting your weight to prepare to sit up, you grinned at him. All your favorite foods rolled out into one beautiful breakfast, and to top it all off, there he stood, still lazy and in his pajamas, completely comfortable around you just because. 

“Good morning to my princess,” he said as he set the tray on his side of the bed and sat on the edge of yours. Watching you try to shake sleep was probably one of his favorite things to do. You were still half asleep at that point. Beautiful, though. Stunning even when struggling to keep your eyes open. Softly, his fingers brushed your hair back from your face.

“I’m not a princess,” you mumbled, staring up at him.

“Oh?”

“Nope,” you said, pushing yourself up to sit with your back against the headboard. It took a moment to get comfortable, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind that. He watched you shimy and squirm until you were slumped, shoulders slouching, your hand reaching out to take his. “Just an ordinary woman.”

“Ordinary,” Bucky laughed softly, “but you feel so special to me.”

“That would be the love talking,” you teased. “I assure you, I’m plain. But that’s a good thing, I guess, since you love dressing me up and buying me cars. I won’t clash with anything, right?”

He ruffled your hair and leaned in for a kiss despite your protests of morning breath.

“Did you take today off?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I woke up early to do two things.”

“Breakfast, and then what?”

It looked as if his mind was going a million miles an hour. “Uh. Okay. Three things then.”

“Oh, geez, you’re just full of surprises.”

“Always.” With your legs drawn towards you and crossed, Bucky placed the tray between the two of you. “Okay. So first thing’s first. I made you a doctor’s appointment.”

“That’s good,” you thought out loud. “Probably should get started on vitamins and shit. I guess a baby isn’t just all fun and sunshine.”

“Fun, sunshine, and vitamins,” he corrected with a laugh.

You playfully swatted his arm. “Okay, okay. Baby, breakfast, and what else?”

Bucky chose that moment to shove nearly a whole waffle in his mouth, and despite coughing around it and causing his eyes to water, he wouldn’t spit it out.

“Bucky! Don’t avoid the question! What did you do?”

He continued chewing, but oh boy, you were waiting. Not a bite more entered your mouth. He swallowed with a slight struggle and tried to quickly take another bite--you, however, were ready for that. You slapped the waffle from his hands and carefully grab his chin. 

“Bucky,” you say seriously. He was forced to look at you, too soft to tear away from your gentle grasp. “You gotta tell me what you did, dude. You’re worrying me.”

Bucky was about to bite his damn lip off. One breath in, then out, and he tried to keep a straight face while looking at you. It came out as more of a frown with his drooping eyes and slouching shoulders. “I… Okay, first of all, you left your laptop open so this is not my fault.”

“Bucky, what did you do?”

“I paid off your student loans.”

“You WHAT?”

Bucky made a face. “We can’t have debt with a baby. Plus, now next time we, you know, do it, this big purchase will be remembered.”

You can’t help but giggle despite being a little upset. That’s not a car. That’s like three, almost four cars. This was such a huge bill that you were honestly a little intimidated by it all. “Bucky? That’s sweet and I’m glad you’re considering sex, but, uh, that’s a lot of money.”

“And you shouldn’t have to carry that burden alone.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Nutty for you,” he said smoothly, holding up a strawberry for you to bite into.

The fresh fruit is really good, almost as sweet as Bucky’s being. Incredible how one man could be so selfless and dorky. “What a sap,” you tease.

“Maybe I just love you too much.”

You took the rest of the strawberry from him as you shook your head. “No,” you decide, “you just love me the right amount.”


End file.
